Inheritance
by Wings of a Wolf
Summary: Zechs Merquise, formerly Milliardo Peacecraft, has been reincarnated as Maximillian Zechs Tudor, a popular horror writer. But some memories never fade, and some things can't be forgiven. 13x6.
1. Part One

_I walk alone, think of home  
Memories of long ago  
No one knows I lost my soul long ago_

_Standing on my own  
Remembering the one I left at home  
Forget about the life I used to know  
Forget about the one I left at home_

_-On My Own by Three Days Grace-_

--

**Inheritance: Part One**

It was only minutes before midnight. The old grandfather clock downstairs was ticking away slowly, methodical noise resounding in the empty room. The cat sat on top of it, her green eyes closed as she relaxed on the pillow put there especially for her. The summer heat was almost unbearable. A fan ruffled her downy gray fur and blew past her, up the stairs and into the bedroom.

Sweat streaked the long blonde hair that was splayed over the pillow, turning the strands oily. A fringe of pale lashes shuddered as the eyes beneath moved rapidly, the dreaming cycle of sleep having overtaken the young man not long before. He tossed and turned, heavy cotton sheet plastered to his skin. Everything else had been pushed down as far as it would go, crumpled at the end of the bed. His breath was short, fevered, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. The clock struck twelve and intense, silvery-blue eyes flew open.

His eyes were glazed over with sleep, wearied beyond belief. He relaxed back onto the pillow, releasing tension in his muscles that he hadn't realized had been built up, and sighed heavily. He knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now.

Zechs kept odd hours, sometimes studying late into the night, so at least he had five hours of sleep. He pushed back the sheet and slowly rose to his feet, staggering out to the kitchen to flip on the coffee maker. With an audible yawn, he walked into the bathroom and fell into the shower.

He could already tell that it was going to be a bad day. _'Can't even remember what I was dreaming,'_ he thought bitterly as the hot water sank into his bones, making him a bit more aware. _'All I can remember...'_ He flinched as he once more felt the snap of teeth at his throat, the hot breath and saliva slicking his skin, a normal nightmare. The one that had followed, though, had been different.

_"Do you trust me?"_

_A careful smile. "To a certain extent, Your Excellency."_

_The man sighed, tapping long, aristocratic fingers on the hilt of a sword. "I guess it can't be helped. You know that I would--"_

_"Of course. I also wish that."_

Zechs turned off the water and tried to force the memories away from him. The first dream, the nightmare full of pain, was almost as bad as the second. The second had been frightening beyond anything that Zechs had known before. It had felt _real_. Grabbing a towel, the tall man began to dry himself off carefully before wrapping the towel around his waist and heading towards the coffee.

Dawn found a tall blonde man slumped over at the kitchen table with a coffee cup in his hands, hair still soaking wet and tangled, a towel wrapped half-heartedly around his waist.

_"You you trust me?"_

_A soft sigh escaped his lips, flowing over both his skin and the other's. "Beyond anything."_

_"But you are aware that you shouldn't?"_

_A hard smile. "Of course I am."_

_The other lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. I truly am."_

_"I know you are."_

--

Zechs woke again with a crick in his neck. Persephone the cat was lapping at his half-drunk coffee, but as soon as she saw his eyes open she made as if she hadn't been drinking. Ice blue eyes gave her a stern look, which she ignored in favor of washing her face with a paw. Zechs shook his head in wry amusement and groaned as he felt the muscles in his back cramp.

He actually had to go _in_ to work today, too. Zechs worked from home as a writer for All Hallow's Eve anthology, a series of short stories for horror writers whose work bordered on fantastical. They held a yearly conference to discuss their work and socialize, as well as decide things like new layouts and such. That was what Zechs was going to be late for if he didn't hurry up.

Persephone gave him a stern look as he rushed past her food dish without filling it. Promises of love and future food left his lips as he tried to pull a white t-shirt over his head and tug on jeans at the same time. Finally realizing that he was putting his leg through an arm of the shirt, he managed to straighten his clothing and open a can of cat food without actually ingesting any. Persephone purred; Zechs grabbed his leather duster and money for the bus.

It was a bad day already, just as predicted. _'Sometimes, life just isn't fair,'_ Zechs thought as he tried to put his hair into a ponytail with the tie from a loaf of bread as he went out the door. Realizing what he was doing, he bit back a scream and slammed the door closed. He stomped down the apartment hallway and out the door. To hell with it. He would just _buy_ a freaking hair tie on the way there.

He found out at the convenience store that this was a bad idea. He had only wanted one since he had plenty at home-- he just couldn't find any when he was in a rush. So he had bought the package and told the clerk hurriedly to use the ties themselves. The man, bald and in his early forties, hadn't been amused. Zechs had tried "give them to your wife" as an explanation, but that didn't work.

"My wife is a cancer patient, thank you very much," the man had said bitterly. "She just went through the treatment and is very sensitive about her hair loss. You'll keep the damn hair bands."

Zechs gulped and picked them up before rushing out the door.

So now he had a pocket full of hair ties yet none in his hair, was running late, and the door to All Hallow's Eve's building wouldn't open. Silvery eyes raised heavenward and Zechs took the extra moment to finally pull his hair into a ponytail.

"Need some help?" a wry voice asked behind him. Zechs smiled slightly once he realized who it was.

"You're late too, Duo?"

The chestnut-haired writer made a face. "Didn't you get your key in the mail? Apparently, they're doing some sort of horror promotion type of thing where you can only get in with a key."

Zechs sighed. Just one more thing that he had forgotten in his rush this morning. At least Duo was here. Duo was a wonderful writer of psychological horror, the kind of stuff that made grown men wet themselves.

"Who organized this lovely piece of writing history?"

Duo grinned, the smile lighting his handsome, twenty-year-old face. "Who else? Lena."

Zechs winced. Lena was a lovely woman and a terrific event planner for anyone else but horror writers, but she seemed to think that all horror writers liked was blood, guts, and glory. Emphasis on the blood and guts.

Twirling the key around one finger, Duo announced, "Step aside!" before putting the key into the slot, twisting it, then dramatically opening the door.

The hallway was dim and curtained, lit only by flickering lights every several feet. Luckily, Zechs had been to the conference several times before, ever since he was eighteen and the talk of the horror community. He knew where to go. Duo didn't. This was Duo's first conference, but Duo had been here at least once before when he had talked to Lena about publishing his first book.

Twisting through the halls with Duo hot on his heels, they soon arrived at the room where everything was being held. It was a large room, almost as large as a ballroom, with candles and soft globe-lights lighting the inside. Everyone was talking quietly. The atmosphere seemed to induce quiet, so dark and almost sinister. _'Definitely Lena's work,'_ Zechs thought with a quiet snicker.

Duo whistled lowly. "Nice." Clasping his hands behind his head, he rocked back on his heels to take in the surroundings. Already having done so, Zechs headed over the the refreshment table. He was starving. If those dreams hadn't woken him up he would have been able to eat! However, in a dark atmosphere was not the time you wanted to remember dreams that allowed you very little rest.

"Zechs!" Lena exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. He smiled and twirled her in his arms.

"Lena, you get more beautiful every time I see you," he said. It wasn't flattery; it was true. Lena had a classic beauty, her eyes the same clear blue as his own if a touch darker and her hair a rich wheat gold.

She flushed. "Oh, stop," she said in a way that clearly stated she didn't want him to.

Lena was such a good little sister. She had some odd notions about horror writers, probably inspired by Zechs' own teen years, but she was the sort of person that you rarely would find. She was kind, smart, and beautiful and Zechs would never stop telling her so. He frowned. Given the hell that she had put him through when she was younger, he should probably think of her differently. She had always been little Lena to him, though. Someone who needed protecting even from her own bad self-image if that was what she wanted to think. Luckily she was an extremely confident young woman, otherwise he would have a tough fight on his hands.

"How has everything been going so far? I'm sorry I couldn't help you set up. I overslept."

She smiled good-naturedly. "You always oversleep. Everything's been going great. We have a new author that's going to write for the October edition of the anthology. He's really quite good. I shall endeavor to introduce you to him later." She kissed him on the cheek. "I have to mingle. Try to talk to someone for once."

Zechs frowned at her retreating back. He planned on having a long and lengthy conversation with several people. There had been no need to remind him. Their names were: sandwich, potato chips, vegetables, ranch dip, and fruit salad. She should never have doubted him.

Zechs gave a happy sigh as he dug into the food.

--

Zechs had taken over the snack table. Anyone trying to reach to the assorted snacks that were laid out upon it would get their hands smacked sharply. Zechs was Hungry, capital H intended. No one got between a hungry horror writer and their food because horror writers didn't usually mind a little bit of blood between friends.

"May I have your attention?" Lena said loudly from the center of the room. She shot a quick glare at her brother for commandeering the food before continuing with, "I'm pleased that everyone could make it. As you all know, I am Lena Tudor and the only reason I got a job on the editorial and event planning staffs is because my brother is one of the writers." There were a series of snickers. She smiled quickly. "As you know, the big October edition is coming up for All Hallow's Eve. We've only received one or two submissions so far from the writers. As you also know, our October edition for the autumn quarter is our biggest one. Mister Maxwell has kindly submitted his piece, "Death's Holiday", and Trowa Smith has submitted "Great Minds". I'd like to urge you all to finish up your pieces so that we can continue with publication and editing. We still have a long way to go." Zechs groaned quietly and batted Duo's hand away as he reached for a chip. They were _Zechs'_ chips. _'God is Lena long-winded.'_

Lena paused for a moment. "I'd like to introduce our newest writer, Treize Khushrenada," she said, gesturing to a man off a touch to her right. Zechs bit his lip in his effort to continue chewing normally.

_"Eternal friend..."_

_"After I lose my mask, I can no longer be your friend. I'm sorry." Silver-blue eyes closed. It seemed like there were so many apologies to be given. This wasn't his first, yet he somehow knew that it wasn't going to be his last. In the end, maybe it wouldn't matter. Because no matter how hard he tried to break free, he would never be able to stop fighting._

"'Your Excellency', right?" Zechs muttered under his breath, eyes still wandering over the planes and angles of Treize Khushrenada's face. He had an aristocratic, thin-bladed nose with a stubborn chin and topped with styled copper hair. The blue eyes that were trained on Lena were thoughtful.

"Did you say something?" Duo asked through a mouthful of stolen chips, dark Prussian eyes sharp on Zechs' face.

Zechs shook his head distractedly, ponytail sliding over his shoulder with the vehement motion. "No. Nothing."

--

_The song in the beginning was added with the thirteenth chapter because I thought that it fit pretty well. I cut out the bridge, but other than that, it's correct._

_Yes, I'm aware that this fic is slightly odd, but please review anyway. If you find any typos/spelling mistakes/grammar mistakes, tell me._


	2. Part Two

_Thank you to the people that reviewed! I really appreciated it. Now if I could get more to do it, and while we're at it, those beloved people can review this chapter too. Heh._

_--_

**Inheritance: Part Two**

If there was one thing you couldn't do in dreams, it was actually feel something. You could imagine and you could fantasize all you wanted, but you couldn't really feel. Dreams couldn't just appear out of your head either, but apparently that wasn't as true as Zechs had thought it was.

The blonde writer had suddenly lost his appetite. Lena was talking about something in that smooth, practiced tone of hers. Duo was staring as Zechs with a strange look in his eyes. The others were either talking to one another, listening to Lena, or both. Zechs ignored them all, slowly tapping the refreshment table with his fingers.

Nightmares weren't real. Zechs should know. He had been having nightmares for as long as he could remember about death and burning and things so horrible that he tried to block them out as soon as he awoke. Treize Khushrenada shouldn't be real.

Zechs took a moment to wonder whether this was another dream. He could tell that it wasn't, but he could only hope that when life turned as disturbing as a nightmare that he was still asleep.

Still, every time he blinked he kept seeing a red and black humanoid machine explode. And no matter how much he wished it would stop, his heart wrenched each time.

--

Zechs stepped into his apartment and Persephone blinked at him for so rudely interrupting her nap. Having done that, she jumped on the counter next to her food dish expectantly.

Cats were such demanding creatures.

Sighing, Zechs poured her some of her dry food and kicked off his shoes. She didn't even let him take them off before "asking" to be fed. It was a wonder she wasn't fat, but of course, as a cat she was above such things as weight. That was the way cats were.

Zechs understood cats.

Walking over to his new laptop, Zechs pulled off his coat and threw it over the back of his desk chair. Ever since he had published his first novel Zechs had always gotten a new laptop every two books because by then the technology probably needed upgrading. Zechs was recently back from his tour, thank God, and this laptop was so fresh that he still had some documents to transfer over from his old one.

Cracking his knuckles, he stared at the screen. The screen stared back benignly. Zechs glared.

"You hate me, don't you?" he asked it. It said nothing. Zechs sighed and pillowed his head in his arms. "Treize Khushrenada..." The thing was, he knew the stupidest things about the man. That he always put on his left boot before his right. That he had a weakness for hurt animals and fast cars. That he liked cucumbers but hated pickles. They were the kind of things that couldn't be dreamed up, were too stupid for something like that, yet Zechs still knew them.

Nightmares didn't jump out of your sleep, even if you weren't sure why some of them were so terrifying. Zechs understood why some of them scared him, but some of them were just downright... pleasant. Gentle. Soft. Those were few and far between, mixed in with his constant dreams of blood and murder, but they terrified him more than the others.

And he didn't have the slightest clue why.

_"I love you, you know that?"_

_Zechs smiled, lying back against the pillow with his pale gold hair forming a halo around his head. "I thought that you might." He turned over. "But war still comes first," he said bitterly._

_He could almost feel the sadness vibrating from the man laying next to him. "...I suppose you're right."_

_Zechs knew that he was right. Treize's ideals were bigger than the two of them and so were Zechs'. All that mattered was a little girl with wheat gold hair who he no longer had the right to touch and a country that he was too blood-stained to rule._

_"I love you, too."_

_Because happiness, fleeting as it might be when a war was close enough to touch, had to be grabbed even if you no longer deserved it. And also because that at those words, Treize smiled._

The apartment was silent again. Persephone was very majestically gifting the world with the small sound of her scratching the doorway. Zechs was lying in bed, on his side with his head supported by one folded arm. His eyes were cricked open just a bit, a sliver of blue staring at the wall.

The silence was so loud.

--

When Zechs had been young, his parents had taken him to a series of psychiatrists because of his nightmares. He had always woken up screaming names that he didn't know, seeing things that weren't there. Like most normal parents, they had been terrified.

Zechs, though scared initially, hadn't been. He had been thoughtful.

The psychiatrist had diagnosed Zechs as bipolar. One of the things that he had advised doing was for Zechs to write out his feelings, write out the dreams. That was the first time that Zechs had ever spread the true horror in war to someone else.

Eventually, Zechs had faked it. He had said the dreams had stopped, that he no longer saw a specter of giant robotic machines behind his eyes, that he no longer felt the screams of a little girl who was torn from the arms of her dead parents. He had to pretend. He poured the frustration and the fear into writing, into filling the page with words that were so full of pain they dripped with blood.

People wondered how he had been able to publish his first short story at sixteen and his first novel at eighteen. They didn't know the half of it.

Zechs cracked his back, staring at the laptop's 15" inch screen. He didn't like big laptops, but for some reason that screen seemed to be eating into him. He usually didn't dream so often, but seeing a nightmare walking had knocked him off balance. When he was off-balance, he couldn't write, and when he couldn't write, he dreamed.

He brought his fingers to rest once more over the keys, a delicate touch barely more than a whisper over the warmed plastic.

_- The Sanq Kingdom had stood for just little over a thousand years, built on the wishes of one noble family to get away from the pain and suffering that was brought on their people. Their own large bit of land they made into a small kingdom, a promise torn from the lips of the other Europeans that they wouldn't be harmed as long as they kept their unassuming ways._

_In A.C. 182, a young boy was taken from his bed in the middle of the night. There were explosions and noise, fire lighting the sky like paint dashed across a chalkboard. The royal retainer grabbed his arm, heedless of all protocol, and the boy felt his stomach clench. The sped through the halls to the old throne room, feeling like their skin was being peeled away to reveal a horror that neither had expected to know._

_King Dortain and Queen Nortay lay in a pool of blood. Dortain's head was blasted open, the hole smaller going in than coming out, blood and other fluids seeping out as his eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. Nortay wasn't much better, her dress torn to the waist, her blood covering her like a robe._

_The young princess stood next to them with her head buried in her knees. It took a while for the boy to hear her over the explosions, but her high, keening scream soaked into the walls of the room. His stomach heaved and he reeled backward. Her blue eyes caught sight of movement, but she didn't seem to be seeing him. She didn't seem to be seeing anything but death. –_

Zechs laughed and closed the laptop, banging his head on the table. "Out, out, out," he murmured darkly. "Just go away."

Names changed or not for stories, real or not, he wished they nightmares would stop haunting him.

Persephone hopped onto the desk and rubbed against him, gray fur filling his nose. Her wide green eyes stared at him coolly and he rolled his own. She was deigning to grace him with her presence and try to cheer him up.

He got cats. He understood them. Dogs were harder. They were unfailingly loyal, but they had no grace, no composure.

"I'm guessing that you want more food for trying to help me?" he asked her. She looked at him innocently, trying to convince him that she had absolutely no ulterior motives. He wasn't buying it, but that was all right. "I'll give you tuna fish when I make my own lunch," he told her. She purred joyously and headed back to the grandfather clock to sleep until then.

He closed the document after saving, standing from the chair to get their lunch ready.

He understood cats and, for some reason, he understood a person that he had never knowingly met. Treize Khushrenada. Treize usually worked through lunch, but he always had a large breakfast.

Zechs never wanted to know that. He just did.

--

_Just so you all know, it's not my style to do horror. It freaks me out. I thought it was necessary for this, though. Anyway, feel free to review._


	3. Part Three

_Thanks the reviewing peoples! I love you all and feel free to review again-- heck, review multiple times if you so wish. The reason this chapter works (you may or may not get this after you read) is because Zechs is a very determined and dedicated person. He makes it easy to use him as a plot prop. I'm so mean. Anyway, this chapter is just a little shorter than the previous ones, and for that, I'm sorry._

--

**Inheritance: Part Three**

The ceiling fan spiraled lazily, shaking slightly as if it was about to fall on the head of the blonde man laying beneath it. Each spoke, looking vaguely like white petals, worked together to look like a blur unless you watched it. You picked one and followed it with your eyes until it felt like the world was going to drop beneath your feet and swallow you whole.

Maybe "swallow you whole" isn't the right way to put it. You followed the fan with your gaze only when life had taken such chunks out of you that you felt ragged already, or when you were so bored it felt like you were in pieces. The world couldn't swallow you whole; by being on it you were already falling apart.

White-blonde hair was spread out over the freshly laundered black sheets, tracking the fan wearily. Thoughts wandered through Zechs head like the spokes of the fan moved-- lazy and maybe a little shaky. The ideas blurred and melded, creating something seamless and almost whole, but not quite. Zechs vaulted off the bed to land somewhere near the computer. Then the phone rang.

Cursing existence, Zechs picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, big brother," Lena said sweetly. "How's it going?"

Zechs blanched. She only called him "big brother" when she needed something from him that he wasn't going to want to give her. He sighed softly; the phone cracked under the pressure from his hand, plastic grinding against plastic.

"I'm fine, Lena. Get to the point. I know you want something."

He could almost see her cornflower blue eyes rolling. "The October edition of All Hallow's Eve is very important, as you well know," she said, voice falling into a smooth tone. "Treize Khushrenda, the new writer, is a very good new part of this anthology, but we want to give him a good send-off. We figure that the best new writer and our revolutionary golden god would be a good pairing. And no, those were not my words. I would have said something that wasn't quite so gay."

The chair creaked as he thudded into it.

"Uh... Maximillian?"

He wondered dimly if he should be worried. She never called him Maximillian anymore, not since he had legally changed his name to Zechs Merquise. That had been six years ago. She hadn't even called him that before then.

"Please tell me you're kidding, Lena," he demanded. "Tell me you're kidding _now_."

She laughed nervously, an elegant hand reaching up to brush one dark golden strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid not, Zechs. They aren't demanding, but they want it and have made their opinions vehemently known. They think it will be good for sales."

Zechs took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. It was so innocent looking to bear such news. He closed his eyes to think and it was there: the face, the elegantly raised eyebrow, the explosion, and the utter terror. Silvery blue eyes opened quickly and he glared at nothing in particular.

Zechs hated being afraid. He hated terror and fear, hated not knowing. "Lena? Give me his number."

She sighed. She was relieved, if surprised. He wasn't about to explain himself. It wouldn't sound right to say that he wasn't going to be terrified of a waking nightmare forever.

--

The Crescent Café was located on a little street downtown. The tables were small and made of wrought iron, each blessed with a vanilla candle in the center. A wall cut off the tables from the street; on the wall were more of the candles.

Crescent only opened at night, shortly after the sun went down. It was one in the morning when Zechs met with the small Japanese man sitting in the corner, eyes gazing watchfully out over the street.

"Hi, Heero," Zechs said, stopping in front of the table. Dark blue eyes flashed towards his for a moment and a quicksilver smile graced Heero's face.

"Hello, Zechs. Writers' block?"

Zechs frowned and slid into the chair opposite of Heero. "Try to avoid being an ass for once, would you?"

Heero shrugged slowly, a sardonic smirk on his lips. The candle was flickering to illuminate his face, shadows darting across as he finally met Zechs' eyes. "I have to be me."

Zechs had met Heero when Trowa Smith had "come out" to the writing community. Heero had been his means to do so. The half-Japanese man, just about twenty, was the only one with such a sick sense of humor that he would create a café that opened when the vampires roam.

"How's your work going, Heero? Business booming?" Zechs asked sharply, looking around at the empty seats.

Heero shrugged, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Most people either come earlier or once the clubs close."

That didn't answer the question, but Zechs hadn't expected an answer. Heero spent most of his time watching people rather than participating in the interactions. Oddly enough, his silence seemed to bring out Trowa's words. This was despite the fact that Trowa had never once spoken a word to Zechs in the several years they had known each other through All Hallow's Eve and various magazines. Zechs had never particularly wanted to talk to Trowa, though. His work could be tragically beautiful, but it was still tragic.

"What do you know about the significance of dreams?"

Heero's eyebrows furrowed. "Dreams can often show hidden portions of the psyche, things might bother a person when they're awake. Some people believe that they can show sequences from past lives, others believe that they can tell the future."

Zechs grabbed Heero's cup of green tea to take a sip of it. He looked into the swirl of tea leaves in the bottom, spinning slowly as he moved the cup to take another sip. "What if you see someone from one of your dreams that you hadn't met previously?"

Heero shrugged and stole the cup back. "Then you probably met the person before and just don't remember." He smirked slightly. "Or they're reincarnated from whoever was in your dream."

Great. That was helpful.

Zechs stole the cup again and knocked down the last few swallows. He needed it more than Heero.

--

It was around eleven when Zechs managed to pull himself out of bed and head out the door. He needed to use a payphone if he was going to call Treize. It was probable that Treize had a vid phone, and some people didn't accept calls from older phones like Zechs'.

Zechs pulled his flaxen hair into a ponytail, stroking Persephone's head on the way out. The lovely creature bit his finger for not giving her food, purring all the while.

Once he was finally seated in the vid phone booth, he sighed and slapped the bright blue post-it on the metal wall to his right and dialed the phone. The phone rang twice, then Treize picked up.

It was the same shock as the first time Zechs had seen him out of a nightmare. His eyes were an intense blue that was always watching vividly; polite and genteel, yet somehow hard and ruthless at the same time.

"Uh, hello. My name is Zechs Merquise. I'm calling for All Hallow's Eve. They want me to do a story with you."

Treize blinked. "Ah, I thought I recognized you. I think I saw you at the conference. You were the one who wrote "Blood Anniversery," if I remember correctly."

Zechs nodded. "Yes, that was me. It was my first novel."

Treize shrugged. "Well, I don't know what to say to such an offer from such a prestigious man. I may need time to think it over to make sure that it will be time well spent." He paused, eyes still unnervingly on Zechs' own. "You're not familiar with my writing, after all. We can hardly be expected to work together if we aren't familiar with each others styles."

Zechs smiled. "Tell that to Lena."

A look of curiosity flashed in the bright blue eyes, masked easily and sowed beneath polite interest. Zechs' smile faded. This was so much like another nightmare, another moment where he talked to this man and planned with him, fought for him.

"Lena is my sister." The blonde hesitated a moment before going on. "She's very much like a princess."

Was it just his imagination, or did a hint of recognition flash across Treize's face? It could be he was only seeing it because he was looking for it. It could be that he was seeing something just because he wanted it to be there.

Treize smiled, coldly polite. "Well, why don't we set up a meeting so that we can get to know one another to see if such a partnership is indeed possible?"

"All right."

Nightmares_ weren't real_. They couldn't be.

--

Treize hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. Zechs looked... so familiar. The long hair was the same, pulled back instead of allowed to float all over. When free, it was so silky that it clung to skin and shifted around like it was floating in zero gravity. The pale blue eyes were the same, held the same sadness and weariness as before. Even the name was the same, but that didn't mean much.

"Milliardo..."

The word weighed heavily on him and he wished he could take it back.

Because in the end, the only thing that he had lost were the people that had supported him. In the end, the game had resulted in a draw. In the end, all he could remember was fire and pain.

They couldn't be the same person. It was too much to hope. Because the last thing he had seen in the end was the face of the man that reminded him of this one.

--

_I'd like everyone to admire my restraint! I desperately wanted to have Zechs kiss Heero in greeting, but I bravely resisted. I deserve a freakin' medal! BTW, I expect to have a 6x1 one-shot out soon. (snickers) I tried to keep Heero in character/canon and I'm fairly sure I succeeded, but tell me what you think._


	4. Part Four

_There was trouble with this chapter. I blame the discovery of the entire Fruits Basket and Weiß Kreuz Gluhen series-- online and free. Then there was Yami no Matsuei, Loveless, and Sukisyo. In other words, all of the shonen-ai anime I could find. And the Weiß Kreuz OVA. Then the Gravi music videos. Then my Gundam Wing video (the tenth, episodes 29-31) arrived in the mail. Then came the two new manga... You can see where I'm going. Anyway, here ya go._

--

**Inheritance: Part Four**

The air in Crescent had a bite to it, the breeze cold and sharp. It teased Zechs' hair, making the fine strands fly around him, turning up the collar of his coat. It barely touched Treize, stirring one lock of ginger hair before falling away to bother Zechs once more.

Heero wasn't here, thankfully. Zechs set up the meeting at Crescent because he was familiar with it. It made him feel safer. He didn't want Heero to be able to guess whatever it was that was the problem with him and Treize. Heero would know somehow; he always did.

"You know, I don't usually go places at ten in the evening," Treize said with a wry twist to his lips.

Zechs smiled. "Crescent is owned by someone I know. I get free drinks as long as he's not angry with me." He considered it for a moment, blue eyes turned even paler than usual from the flickering candlelight. "I'm glad he's not angry very often."

There was a mildly interested look on Treize's face, nothing more. "Do you come here that often?"

"Yes, but that's not the reason." He hesitated. "Heero is... interesting, when angered."

There was a flash of a wry smile; recognition, honest and apparent. Zechs just didn't know what to make of it. He looked away.

--

Persephone graced Zechs with her presence once he stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. She rubbed his ankles briefly before trotting in his bedroom to curl up on the pillow, the sight visible through the open bedroom door. Zechs shot her an amused look. She had obviously decided where both she and he should be for the night, and who was he to deny her?

He toed off his shoes and kicked them to the side. He just stood there for a second, looking around the apartment that he had inhabited ever since his writing career had taken off enough for him to survive on it. Part of the prestigious All Hallow's Eve staff of writers, regular contributor to Dark Fantasy magazine, head of various writing groups that he ran annually to help new writers. Being a writer just didn't pay very much money unless you wrote something trashy enough to be a bestseller.

_Do you trust me?_

Zechs headed into his room. Of course, horror bestsellers were a bit different than other ones. They could be as sick and twisted as you liked, you could put anything you wanted into them, as long as the author never turned away.

Every flash of memory that he couldn't remember, every small idea twisted around until every aspect of it was discovered. Half the time, he never had to lie or make up a single thing. War stories were war stories no matter whether you lied or not. In a war, nothing was too horrible to be unreal. You got the worst, the best, and the most sorrow. Then you died.

Persephone yowled at from the pillow that she had claimed. Zechs shook his head at her, redoing his ponytail so that it would be tight enough to not become loose while he slept.

Persephone was named after the daughter of Demeter, an earth goddess in Greek mythology. The Greek Persephone was the wife of Hades, kidnapped and brought to Hell, tricked into staying there. Demeter had mourned her child and forced the earth into darkness until Persephone was returned, but Persephone always had to go back for a short amount of time. That was why there was winter, when Demeter missed her daughter.

Zechs lay down and put his hand on Persephone's head. "Go to sleep, Queen of Hell." She hissed and bit him. "Someday, I will work up the courage to take you to an animal shelter."

She began to wash her side. She wasn't worried.

--

Zechs staggered out of bed sometime before noon. The sun was altogether too bright, trying its hardest to burn his eyes out of their sockets. Unfortunately, he had plans today. It had been Duo's fault. He had accidentally met with the other writer and he had mentioned shooting range that he practiced at. Zechs had been the one who had decided to go, but it was Duo's fault, regardless.

Persephone was sleeping on top of the grandfather clock again, the lucky creature. Zechs was the one left staggering into the bathroom, eyes only half-open and less than half-awake. He better have remembered to turn on the coffee maker before going to bed.

Looking in the kitchen, he knew his luck just wasn't that good. There was no chance that he was willing to wait, of course. He would just have to pick up some on the way there.

He stepped into the shower and turned the water on at hot as it would go, hoping it would wake him up. It was only after he was completely soaked that he realized he was still wearing his pajama bottoms. He laid his head against the side of the shower. It was going to be one of _those_ days, wasn't it.

--

"You can't be out of coffee! You're a _gas station_."

The girl leaned over the counter and smacked her bubblegum at him. "Well, the machine broke last night and no one knows how to fix it. We've got some energy drinks in the cooler."

Zechs sighed. Energy drinks always made him feel like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. "Thank you..." He took a look at her nametag. "Billy." She smiled cheerfully at him as he nearly slammed into the rack of potato chips upon turning around. _'It had to be today that I forgot to set the coffee maker, didn't it.'_

Of course it did. It was one of _those_ days.

--

The shooting range had a bitter tang of metal in the air. Breathing it in, it felt like swallowing gunpowder. It was all too familiar; it felt like war. Zechs had "formerly" learned to shoot at age fifteen. His father had said that it was a pastime of gentlemen or something of the sort, but Zechs had never really needed lessons. He remembered, somehow, and that was that.

Walking down the long row of targets, you could see the people spaced at indeterminate intervals. Duo stood somewhere near the end, farthest away from all of the others, with a long chestnut braid lashing and eyes grim.

He grinned when Zechs came close enough for him to see him. They couldn't hear each other, of course, wearing the muffling headset that was required of all of those at the shooting range so that they didn't go deaf. Zechs was just given a reckless smile and his hair was carelessly ruffled. Zechs found himself rolling his eyes. Duo was extremely self-confident, almost annoyingly so.

They didn't need to talk anyway. That wasn't the point. Then again, Zechs wasn't really sure what the point was.

He didn't suppose he had ever been sure.

He readied his gun and started practice. For what reason, he didn't know. What was the point? It felt like something was dogging him, a shadowed beast looming over him so that all he could think about was a dream. A dream that he wasn't sure was real.

The second he touched a gun, all he could remember was something that wasn't real.

_Once you got past the coldness that was in Treize's very nature, you began to see things. The small things, things that could possibly tell you more than anything else ever could. The way he hesitated sometimes. The way his eyes closed for the briefest moment before he ordered someone's death, firmly pushing aside all regret, pain, and fear. The thing about Treize was that he truly believed in what he was doing. It resonated in every bit of him. It was in the sharpness of his eyes even when he was relaxing. The way he walked, his back straight and his shoulders showing pride in their set line. Treize had nothing to hide, Treize was in the right, and Treize was absolutely sure of that fact._

_That was one word for Treize. Sure. Treize sometimes got confused about what was right looking back-- that was one of the reasons he admired the Gundam pilots: they never seemed to be confused-- but when he was doing it he never had a doubt. Treize lived in the future rather than the present. He was striving towards what he believed to be a good thing and was willing to die for it. In fact, if it was necessary, Zechs was sure that Treize would purposefully die if he believed it would help the future._

_Zechs wasn't like that. He tried to achieve that kind of purity, but he couldn't come close. He wanted mortal things: Relena's safety, Sanq's safety. He couldn't reach beyond those two things to see if what he was doing was right for anything else other than those two, though._

_That was why he had to trust Treize, Relena, and the Gundam pilots to look at those things. It didn't mean he could stop trying, but even when he fell to his own mortality, he could trust the pure ones to keep going._

_"Milliardo?" Treize called, voice husky from sleep. "What are you doing out there? Come back to bed."_

_Zechs smiled slightly and turned away from the rail of the balcony. "I'll be right in," he said lowly. He gave one last lingering look at the sky he had been looking at and headed inside. He couldn't change a sky that had been lit with explosions only hours before any more than he could change anything else._

_He laid his head against Treize's chest and felt warmth radiate from the man as Treize's arms closed around him._

_"Do you trust me?" Treize asked, voice muffled in Zechs' long hair._

_A soft sigh escaped his lips, flowing over both his skin and the other's. "Beyond anything," he answered. What else could he do but trust Treize?_

_"But you are aware that you shouldn't?"_

_Zechs' smile was bitter, a hard look on an otherwise gentle face. "Of course I am."_

_Treize looked away and out at the balcony, where the night sky lay as if nothing else was happening in the world other than this peace. "I'm sorry. I truly am."_

_The corners of Zechs' lips turned upwards and he buried his face, cooled by the night air, against Treize's throat. "I know you are."_

--

Notes_: Um... yes, it's short. Crap. It was either this or what even longer for this chapter. I told you, I've been having a difficult time. I think I'm back on track, though. Yay! And next chapter we will (FINALLY!) be getting to the good stuff. Maybe a kiss? Hehehe. So review. It'll speed the process along._


	5. Part Five

_I am having soooo many problems. There was an incident concerning nekomimi-- you know those anime with all the cat-eared girls and guys and whatever? Anyway, I was watching Loveless and began drooling over the sight of male nekomimi and Ritsuka + Soubi kissing. I started wanting very desperately to write an original fic about nekomimi. Some hours later, a fic was birthed in which a nekomimi boy and another guy had hot, rampant sex with each other. What I'm getting to is this. You are so lucky to have gotten this chapter. Added to that, I wrote a Naruto fic that anyone who likes Naruto should really go over and review. After this. (sigh)_

--

**Inheritance: Part Five**

Zechs felt like he was melting. The heat of the day clung to his skin, weighing him down until it felt like he was going to sink through the sheets and mattress and into the floor. It was too hot for this. He had been hoping that it was finally remembering that it was going to be winter in just a matter of months.

If only Treize would hurry up and call. Treize had said that he had to "think about it." It was only a couple of months until the October edition. They needed to start _now_, not later. Zechs didn't have the slightest clue what he was thinking. Of course, since _he_ was thinking about heading towards Greenland to escape this obligation (and the heat) he couldn't exactly say anything against Treize.

Zechs thought about prying himself off of the bed for a moment. He still had his own story to finish touching up and then get to Lena. He considered it for another moment. Then he snickered. _'Yeah, right.'_ The fan in the corner was pointed directly at him and the ceiling fan was right over the bed. He was not moving under any circumstances.

The phone rang.

If that was amusement in Persephone's eyes, she was going to be a homeless stray very soon.

Zechs peeled his hair off the back of his neck and tried to put it into some kind of order. It was too hot to be moving, or really doing anything other than vegetating. Stumbling towards the phone, he tried to remember why it was he had moved away from the bliss of the cool, moving air, to the stagnant, heavy air of the rest of the apartment. The phone rang again. Oh, yeah. That.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Zechs. It's Treize."

Zechs sighed and threw himself back down on the bed, bringing the cordless with him. "Hello, Treize. Have you made a decision? Lena has decided that calling every hour is a viable thing to do to get what she wants."

He could almost see the trace of Treize's frown from the other end of the phoneline. "Yes. I'll write it with you."

"Good. Meet me at Crescent later. It's too hot to go anywhere in the daytime."

"Trying to become nocturnal?" Treize asked bemusedly.

Zechs smiled slightly. The dry tone was so utterly _Treize_ that it killed him. "Yes. Have you moved away from air conditioning lately? If I go outside, I will turn a lovely shade of radish."

Treize bit his lip. "Radish?" he asked, voice tinged with laughter. "A red-purple color?"

The blonde author frowned. "If I say I'm turning radish, I'm turning radish."

Treize actually laughed.

It was so nice to hear him laugh. Zechs didn't want to get off the phone. He knew how strange that would seem; they barely knew each other. He didn't want to stop, though. It was too good to hear Treize's voice without having to see his face and wonder whether this was real. With it this hot, he could pretend that he was delirious if he mixed up this Treize with his dreams.

"All right then. I suppose you know what color you'd burn to best."

"Exactly."

--

It was Zechs' voice over the phone line. It was his mind that gave these words to Treize. It was his tone of voice, his laughter, the shade of a smile in his tone. But how could it be _his_ Milliardo's voice? They couldn't be the same person, could they? It was just so similar.

"I suppose that it's possible I would just burn to tomato," Zechs mused. He sounded half-asleep to Treize, voice low and full of an unvoiced yawn. It reminded Treize of dreams and memories, mixed together until the only image behind his eyes was of Milliardo with his head buried in the pillow and his hair spilling down his back.

"As I said, you would know best." Though, if he remembered correctly, Zechs burned to a color more resembling strawberry.

Zechs voice became slightly more aware, closing off almost immediately. "Yes, I suppose you're right. So when do you want to meet?"

Treize sighed. "Is nine all right?"

"It's fine. I'll see you then?"

"Right."

--

"Just go _away_, Heero," Treize heard of Zechs as he got closer to the table. He saw the mouth of Zechs' companion quirk.

"No, Zechs," Heero said calmly, taking a drink of his latté. "I want to meet your lover."

There was an annoyed sound. "He's not my lover. I told you--"

"Should I go and then come back?" Treize asked pointed. Silvery-blue eyes and darker ones flashed to his face, one pair angry and the other amused. Treize let himself feel of a moment of amusement. The expressions on their faces were terribly funny.

"I am Treize Khushrenada," Treize told the man he had not yet been introduced to. He was given an infuriating little half-smirk, smug and annoyingly self-confidant.

"Heero."

Treize gave Heero a shade of his own guarded smile. Some things, apparently, didn't change. "If you don't mind me asking, would the surname be Yuy?" He thought he saw Zechs stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Maybe there was a fly in his cup.

Heero tilted his head up suspiciously. "Yes. Why?"

He was given a polite smile in reply, eyes sliding away from him to Zechs. "No reason. I just recognized the name, that's all. There were two famous Heero Yuys in existence, you realize. I must have been recalling school lessons."

Heero stood up. "I think I realize why you didn't want me to meet him. I'll see you later, Zechs."

Zechs said something in reply. Treize wasn't paying attention, sliding into his own seat to steeple his fingers before him. When Zechs turned silver-pale eyes to him, it was like looking at a ghost. "How did you know who he was?"

The aristocratic man just looked at him dreamily. "Because of a number. One and only. You would know better than me. Now, we need to discuss plot."

--

The candles burned low, wicks swimming in pools of melted wax. Zechs could feel the rush of caffeine sing through his veins, almost burning him and making his heart beat too fast. They were still arguing over character portrayals, of all things. Zechs was, of course, in the right.

"You can't have her be that shallow. No one is," he complained. "You have to look at the past circumstances. Maybe the life that she's had is somewhat shallow, but you can't assume that her past is all that she is."

Treize sighed heavily, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger. "The past is what shapes someone. Without memories, a person is not who they were with those memories. If her past is shallow, so is she."

Zechs frowned. "The _mind_ is shaped by memories; the soul is something entirely different. The present mind is shaped by memories, but memories are shaped by the soul. It's all a matter of perspective. If a soul does indeed exist, then a person is the same no matter whether they carry their memories with them or not."

For that, Treize smiled, the expression lighting up his somewhat somber face. "I suppose you're right." He stood. "I will call you tomorrow to finish laying out the plot. I believe it's time for me to be going, Milliardo."

Zechs blinked at Treize's retreating back. _'Did he just...?'_ A scowl fell over the blonde's normal expression. "Coward," he muttered under his breath.

He wasn't entirely sure whether he was talking about Treize or himself, but he supposed it applied either way at the moment. So he went home to the purring Queen of Hell and tried to forget that he had remembered a different reality. Because it was _so damn frightening_ to think that this wasn't quite as real as it should have been.

And when he fell asleep, he dreamed.

--

_Another short chapter! Damn it! I'm so sorry. It appears that the boys aren't ready to get physical yet. I wish they'd get their asses in gear and fall in love again already. (sigh) Anyway, please review. I need _someone_ to make the plot bunnies hop. Because the plot bunnies are getting heat stroke and keeling over._


	6. Part Six

_Yay! My inspiration hath returned! You can see me jump for joy for only one review from each reader. It's a great price, such a steal! Just feel free to press the little review button... Hehehe._

_With the first scene I figure that it has to be a bit off from actual events because it has to do with Relena and not Zechs himself. Therefore, it wouldn't be one of his memories but a remembered memory of being told another's memory, or reading of it anyway. ...That was so confusing._

--

**Inheritance: Part Six**

_She leaned against the railing beside the road with her head down. Her dark blonde hair trailed over her shoulders, kept as neat and perfect as it should be. She smiled bitterly._

_"A normal girl would freak over this," she murmured, staring out over the ocean waves. She was more collected than normal girls, though. She knew she was. It was just that although she understood how important her father's job was, she wished that her parents had more time to spend with her. Sometimes she was so lonely._

_It took a few moments for her to catch sight of the body lying on the beach. "Oh my God," she whispered, running down the steps to the sand. There was blood on him, shining against his lightly tanned skin and caking his thick hair. It was a boy in a flight suit. Just a boy, yet he was here on this beach looking dead already. She gasped at the sight._

_"Is he a soldier? He's not any older than I am," the girl murmured, fear rising in her towards the people that would make someone so young into a soldier. In that moment, she felt her perfect world tremble and crack._

"It's a good start," Treize said, looking over the printed page critically. "So you want me to do the next part?" He looked at Zechs expectantly when he didn't answer.

Zechs was staring at his laptop thoughtfully. He shook his head abruptly, blue eyes swinging to rest on Treize. "Yes." He smiled ruefully. "I already know what's going to happen in it. If you do it, then I'll have to adapt. Consider it a writing exercise."

Treize raised one finely arched eyebrow and smirked. "Are you my teacher now?"

Zechs shrugged. "If that is what you want to call me. I have more experience writing creatively than you do, Treize. Besides, it's sort of like a round robin writing circle."

The other writer laughed. "Didn't that phrase go out of style a long time ago?" Zechs just shrugged. He seemed different from normal, but it was probably just because Treize was looking for something. "All right. Let me give it a try." He gestured widely with one hand. "If you would..."

The blonde sighed and moved out of the chair so that Treize could sit down.

_Her hands fumbled with the cell phone, shaking in her grasp as she tried to dial. "Please, there's an emergency," she managed to say through the buzzing in her head. Everything was spinning around her. She wasn't even entirely sure of what she was saying into the phone._

_He stirred slightly in her grasp. He was almost pretty, despite the blood covering him and the fact that he was male. He was tense against her, surely nervous, surely afraid._

_When his eyes opened and he jumped away from her, it became clear that he was neither._

Zechs laughed upon reading it, causing Treize to look at him curiously. Zechs shook his head. "You don't want to know." He had a feeling that Heero would object to being called pretty, but it certainly fit.

He was beginning to confuse this Heero with that one. He was confusing Heero with the one that would always be the ideal, so clear and focused to one as confused as a pacifist disguised in blood.

Zechs closed his eyes for a moment. It was so strange.

"You have a cat," Treize remarked, surprise lacing his tone. The blonde glanced over at Persephone, who had apparently decided that Treize was good enough to be allowed the sight of her beauty. She graciously rubbed her head against his outstretched hand.

"Her name is Persephone," Zechs informed him, glaring discreetly at the four-legged evil creature who was shamelessly rubbing her head against Treize's chin.

"The Queen of Hell?"

"It fits," Zechs addressed to Persephone poisonously. She hissed at him and curled up in Treize's lap. Beggar. She was doing this just to make him annoyed. She was a devilishly smart cat who deserved to be a stray.

"There will come a day, Persephone, when I become tired of you doing these things on purpose and you shall be called 'homeless' from that day forward."

Treize blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Zechs flushed. "Nothing." Persephone was definitely laughing at him. "My turn."

--

"Maybe I should change professions," Zechs mused two hours and several pages later. He was sitting heavily in the chair, his head resting against the back. "An easier one, like rocket science or building mecha."

His companion just laughed, still petting the cat that was now asleep in his lap. Surprisingly, the writing was actually going well. It was quick, too, with two people working on it together, despite frequent "discussions." Treize lent a kind of elegance to it while Zechs painted it over with dark splashiness. It made everything have a dark edge that was clear in his other work, but it was obviously different with Treize also present. It was a Victorian nightmare set in a vaguely present time world.

Zechs seemed to remember something, more than he was willing to admit. It was clear when he wrote, as well as in anything that he had written before this. The fact that this story was based around his younger sister and a series of what-ifs was probably scaring him, considering what had happened to the story-Relena.

The famous pacifist had just killed her first man after the boy she had rescued bled out from a gunshot wound.

"Let's continue tomorrow," Zechs said, face nearly white. Treize agreed readily. He was halfway out the door before he turned to look over his shoulder at Zechs' thoughtful expression.

"You can't change the past and that isn't what happened. Don't worry about it."

He thought he heard something crash when the door closed behind him, but he didn't turn back to look.

--

The nightmares were back with a vengeance. He had thought that they might leave him alone for once, but obviously that had been too much to hope for.

He still woke up thinking that he was steeped in blood, trying so hard to make it right when it was obvious that there was nothing he could do. No matter where he turned, there was nothing for him to do but to fight.

He supposed that was why he was walking down the street at four in the morning and trying to forget again. He didn't know whether he wanted it to be real or not. If it was real, if whatever he dreamed of truly had happened, then it would change everything.

Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he understood, just a bit. Maybe he could tell what the truth was. He still didn't want to think about it, though, so he kept walking.

The breeze was getting colder at night. He knew that soon enough it would pierce through anyone unfortunate enough to be outside. The days were still broiling, though. You couldn't win.

Zechs stared at the stars and remembered an un-memory. Then he shook his head. "This is stupid."

He went back inside. If all he was going to do was deny and try to figure things out, he could do it while sitting down in his own apartment, in comfort.

--

_Treize's face was soft in sleep. Every harsh or calculating look was erased, every pain was smoothed over except the sad tightness around his mouth that refused to go away. He was relaxed in sleep, but he was still sorrowful._

_Zechs smiled as he stroked the springy ginger hair on Treize's head. It was soft and wavy, cool underneath the pads of his fingertips. Treize's face always held a sort of cold beauty, but in sleep he was truly lovely. He was like a sleeping fallen angel._

_It was quiet here. There were no sounds of war, no plans that had to be carried out. There was only Treize sleeping and the feel of soft cotton sheets._

_Zechs rested his head on Treize's and closed his eyes._

_It was peaceful._

Zechs woke up in an extremely dissatisfied mood and to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Looking around blearily, he noticed that bright light was streaming through the windows of the living room. He had fallen asleep in a chair in the living room.

Persephone was mad at him for not feeding her, so she was glaring at him from the top of the clock. Such a wonderful creature, the cat.

The blonde began swearing under his breath and nearly slammed into the wall when he tried to open the door without unlocking it. He tiredly met Treize's amused gaze.

"Please tell me you brought coffee," Zechs asked desperately, stepping aside to let Treize inside.

"Coffee has indeed come to you," Treize agreed, an even and pleasant expression on his face as he offered Zechs a styrofoam cup. Zechs snatched it away and guarded it greedily as he took careful sips from it.

"I hate mornings," Zechs grumbled before taking a look at the clock. "And afternoons. And nights, for that matter. Give me a couple of minutes."

He hit the door to his room because he forgot to open it first.

Treize bit his lip to keep from laughing. He had forgotten that Zechs was Not Coordinated in the morning. He was most certainly Not Graceful, and was quite often Very Stupid.

"Damn it!" came from the bedroom, along with the sounds of frequent crashes. "Oh for the love of God! I am aware that I have done some things that deserve retribution, but why now?" There was a much quieter, "Please don't fall, glass cup."

The sound of breaking glass filled the apartment.

--

_Regina held the gun in her hands, blood flecking her face. The shot had been close, but she had still pulled the trigger. She had still let death follow her. She had still stained her hands with blood to allow the brother she hadn't known of before an hour ago keep himself from all of this._

_At least one of them would be able to be pure and rule their pacifist kingdom the way it deserved. The crown would sit on his platinum-haired head and she would stay in the shadows to kill his assassins._

_What was one more drop of blood, after all?_

Zechs was quiet for a moment after reading Treize's latest segment. Treize had expected that he would be, but for all he knew the other man was still reading. He was moving his eyes still, but somehow Treize didn't think that it would compute.

Treize was quiet too, because he realized something. Even if Zechs thought that "Regina" was just a character, even if he didn't believe what he remembered, he was going to try to save her.

His sister was the one that he idolized above all others, his pure angel. Milliardo had put her on a golden pedestal in the middle of a million portraits painted of her smiling face, and he would keep her there. Milliardo had believed that she was the only one fit to rule Sanq, even though he had been the one to fight for it while she had been blind.

Zechs, whether he remembered Milliardo Peacecraft or not, was going to try to save the sister that he had always protected.

It was _Treize's_ job to try to save Zechs.

--

_A decent-sized chapter. Oh gods. It only took constant, unforced working on it all day. I think I've remembered why I loved this fic. How could I forget? Ooh... coming chapters are going to be fun. I'm not sure whether it will take one or two weeks for the next to come out because I'll be at my sister's and without my stuff, but review and I'll try harder. BTW, everyone should get the Loveless manga. Everyone._


	7. Part Seven

_I would like to thank, once again, everyone who reviewed last chapter. I really, really appreciated it. I would send you cookies, but, sadly... Anyway, read the chapter printed below and enjoy._

--

**Inheritance: Part Seven**

It was the funny thing about weather that as soon as it was the opposite of what you thought you hated, you found yourself wishing for the thing that had previously tormented you. Now that the heat wave had ended, Zechs was desperately wanting it to come back. He was freezing. The heater had broken once before and he hadn't bothered to get anyone to fix it since it was so hot. Now, he found himself regretting his folly. He should have thought ahead.

This was the reason that he found himself digging in his closet, Persephone having firmly placed herself in the way and wrapped around his ankles, trying to find the box with the warmer clothes. He was having fond thoughts of Jamaica and the new L3 resort that had opened not so long ago. This was funny because not so long ago, he had been having fond thoughts about Alaska and Greenland.

Zechs had decided that it was time for him to move to a space colony, where the weather was controlled. He would go to the local travel agent's office today and pick up some brochures. He had heard that L1 was nice. Well, L5 was the nicest, but it was privately owned, and _where had all of the warm clothes gone?_

Zechs shoved through the boxes, piles of clothing, and goo that shall not be named to find the box proudly labeled in black marker: WARM CLOTHES. He bit back a victorious smile and opened the box, digging through it until he managed to find a soft blue sweater that Lena had given him. Lena often shopped without looking at the price tag, but in this case, it had definitely paid off. She had her brother's eternal gratitude and love for this gift.

Carefully untangling himself from Persephone, Zechs padded through the cold living room, shivering, to sprawl on the couch. He quickly pulled down a blanket from the back of the sofa and turned on the television. It was strange; none of him was cold but his fingers and yet that was making the rest of him into an ice cube.

The white walls seemed to form a cozy box around him as he watched the droning of the news in the background. It was wonderfully quiet, the sound of rain trickling down outside barely making its way into his consciousness. He decided to watch as they aired some classics where two round things (they may have been animals, but were so badly animated he couldn't even tell) beat each other up. Everything else was just the boring stuff they aired for daytime television.

As Zechs let his mind drift, trying not to breathe in mouthfuls of Persephone's fur as she settled near his head, he thought about what had just happened to "Regina" in the story. She had just been captured by the opposing military. Zechs wanted to save her, but Treize had argued that letting her die would symbolize how in a war, sacrifices have to be made for an end result. Zechs had promptly retorted that if you die for the future, how can you be sure that your death is worth anything because you won't be there to see it? Treize had said that there was such a thing as faith. It was funny, having a fight with Treize Khushrenada over a girl that so closely resembled Lena and the one in his dreams. It made a twisted sort of sense.

On the screen, one of the badly animated things melodramatically jumped of a cliff; Zechs muttered "good riddance" before he realized that it just popped back up again.

Regina couldn't just die, though. She had to live on, to become something. What she had been, innocent and vain, hadn't been all that she was. Giving her character this depth was drawing into shadow what she had once had; a sweet diplomacy, a politeness that was only skin deep, and a core of gundaniam.

She wasn't Lena, she wasn't the princess whose horror-filled eyes stared at the bodies of her parents, but she was something they could have been.

In a way, she was Zechs.

That was why he was having the young, soldier trainee who his avatar in the story was practically jump of cliffs to save her. The characters were spliced and each had half of who the princess and Zechs were but lacked the other half. One of them was going to have to die. At this point, Zechs wasn't sure which one deserved to live more. Then again, he didn't even know why it mattered so much.

--

"Why don't we take a small break?" Treize suggested that evening, cultured and urbane tones flowing over Zechs' ears. The blonde opened his eyes. They were at Treize's apartment because Treize had refused to go into Zechs' when he had felt like he was freezing the second he stepped in.

Zechs considered it for a moment, resting his head on one hand. "All right. We don't have all that much time left as it is. I have to hand _my_ story in to Lena tomorrow. If this one isn't there soon, I fear she will try to murder me and hide the body."

Treize's blue eyes shone briefly with laughter. "I'm guessing the break won't be very long, then."

"Not very long at all," Zechs agreed, smiling at the other man. They sat there like that for a moment before Zechs broke their gaze. "I'll get a drink, if you don't mind."

Treize waved him off, watching as Zechs' back retreated into the kitchen. "Retreat" was definitely the word for it. The writer's long ponytail had practically hit him in the face when he had spun around so quickly.

The refrigerator opening and shutting sounded strangely pleasant. The glass clicked as it was put down on the counter, and Treize could hear as Zechs poured the water. They were small sounds that someone else was in the apartment that Treize had inhabited by himself for what seemed like a very long time. Treize closed his eyes wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Opening his eyes again, his gaze fell on the expensive chess set up in one corner of the room, the dark wood polished and smooth.

Treize raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Zechs, do you play chess?"

Coming through the doorway, Zechs blinked innocently. "I am afraid that I don't, but if you're patient, I'm sure I'll pick up on it quickly."

Treize smirked slightly; he didn't believe Zechs in the slightest and Zechs probably knew that. "I'll be patient," he assured. Their gazes caught again, and this time both looked away.

--

Zechs' face was intent as he looked at the board, sitting in his chair with one knee drawn to his chest and the other curled around the chair leg. He looked completely at ease, completely _unlike_ Milliardo Peacecraft as Treize could ever remember seeing him. His pale hair was messily pulled up, a look of deep concentration filling his blue eyes.

He didn't look like Milliardo as Treize remembered him, but he looked incredibly, undeniably beautiful.

"Ha!" Zechs said suddenly, moving a bishop forward. "Beat that. Checkmate."

Treize appraised the board, raising an eyebrow elegantly. "Perhaps." He moved a piece in direct line to combat Zechs' king. "If you take my king, yours is gone as well."

Zechs frowned. "The game doesn't work like that!"

A smile flashed over Treize's face. "Chess was modeled after war. We're strictly speaking tactics here. Both kings are now held hostage by the other people. I think negotiations are going to have to begin."

Silver-blue eyes blinked, and then smiled. "And we both still have our queens. I guess the rule falls to them."

"Exactly."

Zechs had a very good feeling this game was never going to end.

Several hours later, neither of them could keep their eyes open for very long and there were very long pauses between each turn. Treize looked at the board, resigned.

"I'm afraid that we're going to have to finish at another point in time."

Zechs grinned. "You're just afraid because my former peasant has been given the title of queen, making the two partners on the throne where you have only one ruler."

"And therefore, only one set of decisions need to be made and followed through with," Treize argued. "But this is a discussion for another day."

The blonde sighed and stood. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, then?" He didn't realize the subtle plea laced in his voice, lurking behind his tired eyes as he met Treize's gaze easily. He stood there in bare feet and mussed hair, looking to all the world like a prince.

"Tomorrow," Treize confirmed. He began to check the position of the pieces to make sure he knew where they were in case they were knocked askew.

Zechs nodded. "All right."

Like the perfect gentlemen, Treize walked him to the door and he left, just like that, and Treize went to bed strangely content.

For once, Zechs didn't wake up with explosions behind his eyes.

_Night was spread in the sky like black velvet, the stars so distant and far away that it was hard to believe that it would one day be possible to travel there. Zechs never doubted that when this war was over, they would be able to visit places that had once been only in their wildest dreams._

_The grass of the estate's garden was a verdant green, well cared-for but still kept clipped close to the ground and totally contained. Zechs had never liked the grass of Treize's garden; it was always so tame and quiet, completely without any of the wild beauty that it should have had. The roses and other flowers were gorgeous, though. They spilled over their boundaries and ran rampant around the entire grounds._

_The grass was quiet and contained, but everything else was not. It represented so much of Treize. The aristocratic veneer hid a warrior's heart, a heart that Zechs knew was far more true and pure than his own._

_Treize was reading on the stone bench, head resting on against his knee. It was a totally unguarded pose, brought on by the fact that he hadn't expected anyone to be looking at him at this moment, deep within his domain._

_He looked up at Zechs and his weary blue eyes smiled. He didn't move. He didn't draw up, he didn't collect himself and paint a calm smile on his face._

It was trust. It was beautiful.

He woke up breathing in the scent of roses.

--

_Wow. Finished this one at the last minute, but I had so much fun doing it. I think I remember my plot. I estimate between thirteen and seventeen chapters for this, depending on what happens. My birthday is on Monday (Oct 23,) so review me for my birthday, would you? I think I'm going to try to have a birthday one-shot out, so try to visit that if you have the time._


	8. Part Eight

_Has anyone ever read Broken Warriors by Pryzm? At one hundred and eleven chapters (last counting), it's to Gundam Wing what Glass Houses is to Weiß Kreuz. Incredibly long, incredibly good, and so many weird sexual borderlines that get blurred so many times! People should first read and review me, then go and visit that. After reviewing._

--

**Inheritance: Part Eight**

Lena looked good in the morning light. Her long golden-brown hair shone in the sun, turned rich and bright. She sat at the restaurant table with her hands folded in her lap and her beautiful designer dress creasing slightly. She still looked like a little girl. She was, no matter what job their father's connections had gotten her, or even how good she was at it.

"Zechs!" she exclaimed when she saw him, throwing her arms around his neck and breaking her image of serene beauty. "I was afraid you were going to be late, like usual." She said it without derision, which made Zechs feel all the more guilty. Lena had that way about her. She had a way of making people want to die for her just by walking into the room and saying hello. She would greet even the people that would be beneath other's glances. She would pet the dog. She would compliment the gardener rather than the hostess on the flowers, but with tact and grace so that the hostess was thanking her anyway. It was just the way she was.

Zechs wasn't like that. He managed to insult the hostess with sly innuendo, accidentally crush the flowers, and stumble over the gardener on the way out. When he had been younger, he had tried to be more like Lena, but some things just didn't work out the way you wanted them to, especially when you were being shuffled in and out of psychiatrist's offices

"I ordered appetizers. I hope you don't mind," she said, sitting back down smoothly and smiling at him. "I remember what you like from here."

"Thanks, Lena," he said, barely stifling a yawn. Her eyes laughed at him.

"Long night, Zechs?"

His tanned cheeks flushed slightly. "I'm sorry. I stayed up late playing chess with your wonder boy."

Lena blinked, hand pausing over her cup of coffee. "Mr. Khushrenada? I didn't know you were on such good terms with him." Her smirk was calculating. "I knew you two would get along with each other."

Zechs rolled his eyes as the appetizers were set down on the table. "It's not like that, Lena. He issued a challenge and there was nothing I could do but accept it."

The young woman frowned. "You could just give up occasionally. You don't have to win at everything, Maximillian. It's like you're trying to start some sort of epic battle with everyone you meet. If you cross swords at the hilt, no one wins but something gets broken."

Zechs frowned back at her. "It works if the swords are strong enough. Anyway, I thought we were going to have a pleasant, civil meal?"

She giggled, reminding him of the girl that she had been, with painted toenails and phone bills up to Mars. "Yes, we were. One more thing, before we go back to being civil?"

He sighed, pasting a much put-upon expression on his face. "Yes, Lena?"

"Mother and Father want to have dinner with you sometime soon."

Picking at the appetizer, Zechs sighed. "You know the answer already."

"I know," she said sympathetically, "but they wanted me to ask."

--

After handing off the manuscript following a more or less civil meal, Zechs trudged back to his apartment. The sun was painting red spots on the inside of his eyelids, but it was still cold. He was tired, too tired to be up before noon, really. His breakfast with Lena had been set before he'd had the bright idea to begin a game of chess with Treize.

He should have remembered that... _'Remembered what? A dream? How can I even know anything about him?'_ His heavy sigh was almost visible in the freezing breeze. There were only so many times he could be hit in the face with something before he had to accept it, but it scared him. It was stupid and it was illogical, but it scared him. Then again, he didn't know if the things from his dreams, his memories, whatever they were, were the same as with this Treize.

He smirked. More research had to be done to really understand if what he remembered/didn't remember was real. Everything else had to be taken as it came, even if he was frightened that everything he thought he had known was falling apart.

He had thought for so long that he was insane. That he had some sort of disease that needed to be diagnosed and hidden away from the rest of the world. So he had worked around it and he had tried to ignore it for as long as he could, but he still remembered. He had remembered for so long, seen the lights of the explosions for so long, had hidden it all for so long.

His feet had somehow managed to lead him to his own door, so he unlocked it and stepped inside to the familiar sights and sounds. Persephone purred, the grandfather clock ticked, and the carpet rustled under his feet. It was home; it had been home for a long time now, but right now it just felt _off_.

The message light of the answering machine was blinking, so he pushed the appropriate button.

"Hi Zechs. It's Noin. I'm back in town, but don't feel the need to give me a call or anything. I'm not sitting here, alone and lonely in my hotel room and waiting for you to push the proper buttons on the phone. And no, I don't want to go to dinner tonight and I did not want to go to Crescent, really. Same hotel as before."

Zechs snorted. Noin was such a drama queen. She acted like that, just because he hadn't called her in... four months. Damn, she was right to be angry. He should probably call her and invite her to Crescent when she wanted.

The answering machine beeped.

"Zechs, it's Treize. I sent you my section of the story. You may feel free to finish our little game of chess anytime that you want. My social life is just so full that I do not have much else to do." He could feel Treize's smile even over the phone. "Read the piece and call or email back."

Zechs twisted a strand of hair around his finger, trying to figure out which he should do first. He picked up the phone decisively. He had gone to high school with Noin and she had been his girlfriend for a few years, though they had mostly been friends. She would get the call that she "didn't want." Then he would read what Treize had sent him.

"Zechs, if that isn't you I'm going to bash you over the head and stuff you in a closet until all I can see is your pretty hair," Noin threatened the second she picked up the phone. Zechs stifled a laugh.

"I'm not sure if you or I are more lucky. If you had greeted anyone else like that they would call the police. Should I be quaking in my boots for fear of my life, Noin?"

She huffed heavily, brushing her dark hair back from her eyes. "_Four months_, Zechs. I deserve a call more often than that. You know that it's hard for me to get a call out, but I do have the ability to pick up a phone. Unfortunately, you seem to be lacking the key ability to make that happen-- the ability to call."

He sighed too, eyelids drooping. "I'm sorry, Noin. It's been a bad couple of months."

She instantly stopped threatening and once more sounded like herself, if a bit worried. "Oh, I'm so sorry Zechs. Was it the dreams again? You should really tell Lena, you know. She'd give you less work."

"She'd also tell our parents, and they would have me put into a mental institution," Zechs said sharply. "You know what they're like."

"They're just worried, Zechs. They don't know."

"And I'm not about to tell them," Zechs agreed. "So why don't we talk about dinner at Crescent? We'll talk about more pleasant things, I promise. I can tell you about the October edition of All Hallow's Eve. I'm going to be writing two stories for it this year instead of just one, like normal."

Noin blinked, surprised. "Why? Everyone loves your writing, Zechs, but don't you think that two is going a bit overboard?"

Zechs stifled a laugh. "It's to help introduce a new writer since I'm the original wonder boy."

His friend laughed and leaned her cheek against her knee. "All right, Zechs. But promise me you'll tell me more about all of this at Crescent. Nine o' clock fine?"

He smiled. "Definitely."

--

_It was all coming to a close. The war was going to be ending soon; Regina could feel it in the air. Resting her head on her cupped hands, she thought about all that she had done and how very little she had accomplished. She was trying so hard to avenge everyone, every person that she had never known and every one that she hadn't had the chance to. She had been fighting and trying and dying a little bit inside with every person that she killed._

_In a way, she just wanted to go back to being that girl that she had been before. Innocent. Sweet. That wasn't who she was anymore, though. She could never completely be that person again and maybe she had never really been that person. Who she was now, she didn't really know. She was too shaped by the fighting and the killing. She didn't know who she would be without it. She didn't know if she was going to live beyond the next moment or ever breathe again._

_She was trying so hard, but every time she breathed all she saw was that boy's blood spilling over the ground. Her father, body bruised and broken. Her old life, gone and displayed in her memory like a dream world._

_She wasn't even sure whether that dream was real or not anymore, but she had to keep fighting for that memory. She had to keep fighting. She had to get up and kill one more time. One last time. Maybe then, her demons would rest. Maybe then, her crown could be taken from her bloodstained hands into his unsullied ones._

She bent her head in shame. If only he would stop following and putting himself in harm's way, trying so save her as he did. He deserved so much better than this.

_Just one more time. Just one last time._

"Zechs, are you all right? You didn't even notice me," Noin said, worried. She brushed his hair out of his eyes, provoking an insignificant flinch and a slight lean away from her hand.

"Sorry, Noin. I was just thinking," he said, blue eyes smiling up at her. Writing with Treize, even just being around Treize, was hard, especially when he kept seeing a princess in the place of the girl warrior that their Regina was. Even more often, he found himself in her image, no matter how much he didn't want to. He didn't know when or how the roles had changed, but now Regina was him and her brother was the princess. It was confusing.

Noin frowned. "I come all the way here in the dead of night and you just ignore me. You could stand to pay me a little bit more attention, Zechs. How about a "how are you doing?" or a "you look nice, Noin?" I'd like to hear those things. Or even a... why does he look familiar?"

Zechs followed her gaze to see Treize sitting in a corner table, looking completely lost in thought. He was tracing a finger around the rim of his cup, the other hand gripping it elegantly. He hadn't noticed the two friends staring at him.

"That's All Hallow's Eve's new author, the one I'm working with. Treize Khushrenada."

Noin blinked. "You can't be serious, Zechs. Isn't he..."

"Yes."

"Well, that's convenient." Noin stood up, looking decisive. "I guess I should introduce myself to him, since you two know each other and all." Pure mischief was shining in her violet eyes, which did not bode well for Zechs.

"Noin--!" he protested. She ignored him, as she always did, walking over to stop beside Treize's table.

"Hello, Treize Khushrenada. I'm Zechs' friend--"

"Noin," Treize finished for her. She looked shocked, so he smiled secretively. "I must have heard it said. I thought I heard Zechs' voice, but I wasn't paying much attention." His blue gaze flickered over to where Zechs was sitting, looking deeply uncomfortable at Noin and Treize's conversation.

"You should come eat with us," Noin offered, a charming smile on her face. "I know that Zechs won't mind, and if he likes you then I need to get to know you better, Khushrenada."

He inclined his head graciously. "Then I definitely must adhere to a lady's request."

Her eyes grinned at him. Zechs, noting the expression even though he couldn't quite hear the words, groaned. He was beginning to wish that he had asked Noin to go somewhere else with him instead of Crescent. Seeing her leading Treize back to their table, he sighed. It had most certainly not been the best idea he had ever had.

He managed to put on a brave expression and faced doom in the form of a wiry woman and an aristocratic man. He had never known that death looked so very normal. He would have thought it came with a robe and a scythe, but instead he got this.

He was really very fortunate, really.

--

_You would not believe the week that I've had! Sorry for the chapter delay, by the way. I have been busy like you would not believe. I'm also sorry that I couldn't answer any reviews, but I didn't have any time to do anything _at all_. So thanks to everyone that wished me a happy birthday, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to tell me whether you did or not._


	9. Part Nine

_Do you know how hard it is to figure out what I'm supposed to call these buggers? I don't want their names to be too different from what they were, but then reality hits and I realize that there's no logical explanation why reincarnations would have the same name. I swung Heero's by explaining it to myself as him being named after his own incarnate, but... excuse me while I go bang my head on the wall. It's so frustrating._

--

**Inheritance: Part Nine**

There came a time in everyone's life when they wanted to die. For Zechs, this was one of those moments. It was clear to him in those few, year-long seconds, sitting in a candlelit café across from a beautiful woman and a handsome man, that a man such as himself should not have friends. It obviously caused too much pain and strife. It had been a bad idea to ever speak to Noin in the first place. He took full responsibility for his own stupidity, but that didn't change his current predicament. Noin, his high school girlfriend, and Treize Khushrenada, one of the few people who could knock him off-balance, were talking to each other.

"Zechs? Are you ever going to say anything?" Noin finally asked after several long moments in which Zechs had merely observed the disaster that was occurring before his helpless eyes.

"I am merely soaking in the ambience," he said loftily.

Treize and Noin stifled twin snorts before looking at each other warily. It was obvious to each of them that Zechs was more than a little uncomfortable, but why would the other know that?

"So, Khushrenada. You're a writer, like Zechs?"

Treize nodded. "Correct. I'm only new to horror writing, though. I have written a few books in various other genres as well as political essays for some magazines." Noting Noin's interested look, he added, "I was a political theory major in college."

"Should've known," Noin muttered under her breath, drawing Treize's curious eyes to her. Deciding to ignore it, she said, "I studied history and engineering. I'm working on Mars right now, helping to enlarge the dome there. It shouldn't be long before regular civilians can live there as well as the pioneers. I had a few days off for vacation, so I decided to come Earthside to visit my buddy Zechs here." Her glare, directed directly into Zechs' eyes, said that the reason she had come was mostly to berate him for forgetting to call her. He flinched; Noin was a fierce woman and her glare was a thing to be feared.

"The last thing I heard about the Mars expedition was that the gravity system was failing to be integrated with the artificial atmosphere dome."

Noin grunted, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Well, there were problems. Gravity is still going to be a bit heavier than normal, but it won't be such a significant difference that it'll set back productions. We should--" She shook her head abruptly upon realizing that she was practically giving a man that she didn't know a report. "We've fixed the kinks," she finished abruptly.

Zechs felt himself be drawn into the conversation against his wishes. "How is that woman you mentioned doing, the doctor?" he asked curiously. The last time he and Noin had spoken she had been raving about the new doctor on board and how she was performing some experiments that would hopefully help ease any birthing troubles that would occur once the settlement was ready.

"Sal," Noin said with a smile quickly rising to her lips. "She's doing very well. The new medicine worked for the pregnant woman we had up there, and she helped us adjust the gravity generator. She says she's thinking about staying there once the settlement's done."

"At least you'll have company," Zechs said with a snort. "I don't know why you won't move back here when you're done."

She shrugged. "I built that place practically from the ground up. I have to see it through. You'll visit." It was not a question and it didn't even leave Zechs any room to affirm it, so he didn't bother to say anything. She knew perfectly well that he would visit her.

Treize watched the two of them volley back and forth, eyes switching from one to the other. They had a very dynamic, real interaction that somehow seemed completely solid and grounded to the here-and-now. It was funny to watch them as the sparks flew, however many shared experiences they had with one another binding them to the other like glue.

He sat back in the chair to watch them, hands cradling his cup as they talked and Zechs did his best to ignore him. It probably shouldn't have hurt the way it did.

--

_Defeat tasted like ashes. It tasted like tar, like charcoal, like concrete. Regina was defeated, even if they had technically won. What was winning, if it felt like this? What was winning if she had been forced to stand in front of her brother and refuse to let him try to bring a battleship crashing down on the Earth._

What was this idea that they had won, when she had seen his eyes shatter when the enemy's leader had died?

_She didn't understand. She probably never would. Her brother had so strongly opposed the methods but not the end result. How could he still remain such close friends with that man when he had done so many horrible things?! How could you believe in a single person that strongly? How could you oppose them and still believe in them?  
_

_War. War had broken her and her brother apart into a million jagged pieces until they were blinded and wandering through the darkness. There were no black and white. There was only red._

Treize was silent for so long after he read that Zechs was afraid that he might recognize the scene more than Zechs wanted him to. Then blue eyes lifted to his.

"We'll need a 'life after the war' segment to finish it off," Treize said. "Then editing, but other than that I see no problem with the work."

Zechs smiled lightly. It was the morning after they had been at Crescent with Noin and they were sitting in Treize's apartment. Zechs' own was still frozen. He had been half-tempted to bring Persephone with him before he had remembered that she was a vindictive creature and deserved what she got.

"If you look over the entirety of the manuscript today and I do it tomorrow, then we can start on the end with a moderately correct story to use as a background for the end, just in case we want to change anything," the blonde said, looking over the pages that he had brought with him half-heartedly. He wasn't looking forward to doing the editing work. It wasn't his favorite thing to do, though he admitted that it was necessary.

"When is the deadline?" Treize asked, fingers tapping meditatively against the papers held against his thigh.

It wasn't easily remembered. "Late August, I think?" Zechs offered. "I know that in the beginning of September is the party for the writers before the process of editing and putting out the October edition starts." Zechs hated those parties, but he had to go because of his position in All Hallow's Eve and also because of Lena. He had never liked parties, but it was especially difficult when you had to go to one where there were so many horror writers. You were able to find the most disturbing people of society. Zechs found most of them to be pathetic and posturing.

"So we don't have very much time."

"No. Lena is very unhappy." Complete with tears, a quivering lip, and a look like she was trying to be brave when she really wasn't.

Treize winced slightly. "That's unfortunate." He paused. "Do you wish to finish our game?"

Zechs smiled. "If you think that you can bear your defeat." All he got in response was one articulately raised eyebrow.

"That remains to be seen."

--

Persephone's tail twitched and lashed, dangling over the edge of the clock so that it obscured the time. Being a cat, she was no doubt doing it on purpose. He stared at her and she stared back, threatening.

"Do you want a treat?"

She gave him a disdainful sniff but leapt down anyway to wait patiently on the counter. She seemed to think that he had been neglecting her lately, but she would have to understand that his life didn't revolve around her. She probably thought that it _should_, however.

Forking over one of the chewy fish-shaped treats, Zechs leaned back against the counter and watched the ceiling. His fingers were cold, but everything else was pleasantly warm. The entire apartment was freezing, probably because it was two in the morning. He needed to go to bed soon, but his thoughts raced in circles, pleasantly turning around and around like a carousel. It wasn't dizzying; instead the repetitive was almost soothing.

He and Treize were each down to about seven pieces. The kings had been taken out of the picture early and skillfully, with minimal casualties before the queens had taken over the cause. Only one of Zechs' favorite pieces were left, the knight. His twin-queens were plotting not from behind safe ranks of guards but from their own battle stations; warrior queens. Treize was doing something sneaky with the bishops, though Zechs couldn't figure out what it was exactly. His own queen was seemingly out of the picture, cornered under guard, though she tried to kill anyone who came too close. Still, she was taken care of for the moment and if Zechs tried hard enough he could probably get a victory by default.

Persephone purred, having forgiven him, and rubbed against the bag of treats. "Crafty," Zechs accused, giving her another one. She rumbled happily at him and began to delicately eat it.

The battlelines had been drawn, the rules (what few there were) had been set. Zechs could feel the anticipation mount in him for the next game, the next encounter, the next adrenaline rush. He could plan out his moves, try to keep the number of "deaths" down and still win. Treize would do the same. Chess was intended to be played like war, which meant that if each piece signified human lives, then each piece had its own value and could not be disregarded. If a piece had to be sacrificed for the greater good, so be it, because that was war too. Life had to be valued in its own way, however.

It was probably strange to bond with someone from his dreams by playing war. It was probably strange to have dreams of war where he played chess with a man quite like the one here.

Treize had a brilliant mind, one that was not supposed to be kept cooped up and bound. If this Treize and the dream-Treize were indeed one and the same, Zechs wasn't entirely sure that this was all that Treize had planned, to be a writer and watch the world instead of interact in it. Treize wasn't the kind to just sit idly by. Then again, if they _were_ the same person, Treize had already accomplished everything he had set out to do and therefore all he had left to amuse himself with was trite stories and games.

_'Maybe that was why he chose to end the war that way. There had to have been another option besides that, besides sacrificing himself for the greater good like a pawn dying so the path to a bishop will open. Maybe he knew he would be bored if he had lived.'_

Zechs closed his eyes, pained. "Maybe I hope that my dreams aren't real."

If they weren't, then all he was left with was an obscenely attractive and well-spoken man with dark blue eyes who smiled easily, if guardedly. If they were, then he was left with a sense of betrayal that may or may not be deserved as well as blood and loneliness.

If they were, he was left with a memory of Treize on a garden bench, eyes completely trusting and smile weary.

Zechs didn't know which version he preferred-- real or unreal?

--

_I would like to leave you with this thought, though it doesn't really pertain to the story: Shakespeare's plays were originally acted out with all-men actors. So the "World's Greatest Love Story" was originally a story of Romeo and Romeo vs. Romeo and Juliet. Funny, huh? Review please!_


	10. Part Ten

_A very large part of this chapter was written when I visited my sister's educational theory class in college. I think it's actually better than usual since I was in such a different environment. However, it's a bit late because I'm not at home, so I guess you need to accept quality over speed of posting. Thank you! Please, _please_ feel free to review. I can beg shamelessly, believe me._

--

**Inheritance: Part Ten**

The living room was bathed in darkness and shadow under the cover of the early morning. The palest hint of the sun peaked in the window that Zechs was reading next to, a soft hint of light flickering in and out from an old lamp. This early, everything was misty and quiet, the sounds of the city muted and almost respectful. People were still bustling about, but there was a sense of quiet even in their noise. There was no doubt that some of them were just getting off Colony time, which wasn't standardized even between colonies.

The book that Zechs read was an old one, an ageless classic that he had found in a used bookstore and had coveted ever since. He had gotten it when he was in high school and it had been made even more special by the fact that it had been so difficult to get the funds to purchase it. Nabokov's Invitation to a Beheading was a twisted tale, one that Zechs had appreciated and admired for as long as he could remember. He had all of Nabokov's books. It was hard to give a summary of the book, where a man was kept in surrounding that were completely fake from the spider in the corner to the windows on the walls. The man was supposed to keep up with the regulations of what a prisoner should be, down to what he should think and dream. Nabokov was the kind of author that Zechs strived to be.

There was no clear reason why he had decided to read the novel once more on this particular night. It was probably something in the cold fog in the air at night, something that found him at four in the morning without a care for time or schedules.

Restlessly swinging his foot back and forth, his finger followed the words on the page. He was trying to focus even further on the text so that every word could invade his mind and lay siege to his thoughts, shaping him in ways that weren't clearly defined.

He could almost remember doing this before.

It wasn't often that he could differentiate dreams from reality, especially in the current days when they seemed to bleed together. Sometimes, he couldn't be sure which memories were which. He fully expected that one day he would look upon the faces of his friends and family, seeing someone that had existed before or perhaps never had. He could almost look at Lena and see a princess, not so different from Lena herself, and gaze on the steely determination and grit that made the girl beneath her polite facade.

In the early hours of the day, when everything was still shadowed and misty, it was the true "between" time when faeries were supposed to come out to play. With the faeries came the dreams that weren't quite real and the fantasies that were sometimes more real than reality itself. So sitting in the darkened room with the lamp flickering on and off, Zechs turned the page and continued reading.

--

Treize had a luxurious apartment. Everything in it was plush, warm, and elegant without being uncomfortable. There were soft fabrics that covers the surfaces, deep carpets that you sank into nearly to the ankle, richly-toned walls. Everything in it screamed of money, blue blood, and good taste. There was nothing tacky or cheap to be found except perhaps one thing in the corner, a plushie cat that waved with a happy smile. It had the appearance of a gift given as a joke, but one that its owner appeared fond of nonetheless.

Treize rose from his bedroom every day at five in the morning, no matter how late he had stayed up the night before. Considering his new companion, this was proving somewhat difficult with the inconsistent hours that they kept. He did it, though, wiping every trace of weariness from his face and mind. He didn't drink coffee very often either, finding the taste vile.

Zechs was coming over for brunch, so despite the cloudy day outside that begged Treize to rest and go back to bed, Treize was up and in a brightly lit kitchen. They were supposed to be discussing possible endings as well as titles for their short story, which they had decided not to title to begin with so as not to limit their possibilities. Treize couldn't help but to be hopeful, however. Milliardo was Milliardo, no matter his name, no matter whether he wanted to deny who he was. Milliardo had been Milliardo even when he had been Zechs.

The doorbell rang at about eleven o' clock. Treize pushed the button to open the door and let him in, not bothering to check who it was. He didn't get enough visitors for him to worry about someone uninvited coming to visit him and the few enemies he had didn't know where his personal residence was.

When Zechs entered the kitchen, he gave the wired appearance of someone who had stayed up all night and was running on fumes. His pale blue eyes were open far too wide, his entire countenance of someone overly energized for the tired lines on their face.

"Hello," Zechs said, eyes flicking to the coffee pot hopefully.

Treize gestured towards the mugs graciously. "Help yourself," he said.

Zechs immediately got a cup with the air of one who was desperately tired but trying their hardest to hold up well. Brushing a mussed pale blonde strand out of his eyes, he gently blew over the liquid surface before taking a sip. Treize took a peek at him from the corner of his eye. The horror writer stood there with a kind of negligent elegance, small mug enveloped by his hands and his long hair spilling down his back. He looked all too good in Treize's kitchen; a pang of memory brushed longingly against Treize's heart.

"What are you making?" Zechs asked, looking around Treize's shoulder at the stove top.

"Scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast."

The blonde blinked in wonder, then was startled enough to say, "Thank you."

Treize smiled. He knew that what he was making was Zechs' favorite breakfast and so did Zechs, but the latter wasn't quite ready to admit it yet even if some part of him knew it.

"It's pretty much done," Treize said. "Why don't you sit down?"

The table was quickly set. Beside each mug was a glass of orange juice, the plates filled with steaming food and the cream and sugar dishes that people rarely used were out. It looked like the ideal brunch straight from a magazine.

After he was done with it, Zechs absentmindedly passed the cream but not the sugar, knowing that Treize liked only cream in his coffee the few times that he had it.

Treize smiled.

The human mind had amazing capabilities for self-denial and delusion. It was obvious that Zechs knew who Treize was, from the things that he had said and the things that he hadn't in response to Treize's own words. It was just as obvious that Zechs was quickly explaining these things away just as fast as they came up.

Treize could wait, though. He could wait forever if he had to. He had thought that he would never see this man, would never get to talk to him in a friendly manner once more, would never be close enough to touch him and see the was the silvery blue eyes looked when Zechs laughed or argued. Every time that Zechs turned away or tried to ignore something, no matter how much pain it caused, Treize was still hopeful. If there was no one else he missed, nothing else he had missed at all, there was Zechs.

--

"You still need to look it over before anything else."

Zechs sighed. "I _will_ look it over, but I can hardly see you missing something. There is no point in wasting time that could be spent planning."

Treize regarded him for a moment. "All right. What were you thinking for a title?"

Smiling at his victory, Zechs shrugged gracefully. "I wasn't really sure." They stared at one another for a moment. "War?" Zechs suggested. "Death of Innocence? Let's All Die For Our Beliefs?" The last was said with some bitterness and caused Treize to look oddly cross for a moment.

"Pondering War?" he suggested, the odd look still on his face. "How about, Let's All Face an Identity Crisis and Blow Up the Earth?" They glared at each other for a moment before silently allowing for a truce.

Zechs sighed. "Perhaps we should go back to a title later. We apparently don't have any ideas now and maybe we'll have more when you come over tomorrow."

Treize raised an eyebrow. "Has your heater been fixed?"

The blonde looked vaguely murderous. "If it hasn't been fixed by tonight, I will consider violence."

They were silent for another long moment, each withdrawing into themselves to consider the next move, as if they were still playing chess. Their eyes met briefly; they looked away with something that ran parallel to shame or guilt in their gaze. The silence lasted for another long interval, then another.

"Should the end show some happiness to lift the mood or should it be like a true ending of a war?" Zechs finally asked, appearing to be solemnly studying his hands that were resting in his lap.

A look of confusion flashed across Treize's face. "It seems to me that regardless of other circumstances, the end of a war would be a joyous thing." He could swear that he heard Zechs mutter, "you would," but was sure that he did not because it wasn't often that Zechs was so spiteful and twice in one day would be a bit too much.

"Facing reality, the end of a war is just a bit messy. There are a lot of loose ends to deal with; people who don't realize that the fighting is over, people who do and don't know how to deal with it. There are war crimes to deal with. Fortunately, in our war there was a lot of confusion that covered up the aftereffects." Treize wondered if Zechs realized that he had almost given away that he remembered in that sentence. "I suppose that there is some hope, but the people have to face the fact that many people they knew died. Friends, lovers, comrades."

Treize sighed. "Perhaps we should just skip the ending."

"That _would_ be easier for you, wouldn't it," Zechs said, sounding defeated. "Maybe I should go back home and we should both think about it."

Silently, Treize nodded and walked Zechs to the door. There was a great deal of regret when their eyes met on the way out and Zechs turned through the doorway.

--

_He stood on the Mars base for hours and looked out into space, eyes gazing over the empty black of night and searching as hard as he could to find it. Noin soon joined him, her arm slipping around his shoulders to try to lend her support. Her violet eyes were soft, sad._

_Zechs wondered if she knew. He wondered if she knew everything that Treize had meant to him, everything he had lost when Epyon exploded._

_They headed back inside the base together after a while and Zechs took of the helmet, shaking his hair out so that it hung down the back of the bulky white space suit. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring back out over the red surface of Mars. He could hear the words echo around him as if they were really there, really being spoken._

"My eternal friend."

"One of the few who understand me..."

_Spoken with that affectionate smile, meaning more because it was said by one of the few left that called him by his true name, _"Milliardo."

_"God, Zechs," Noin whispered quietly. She placed her bare hands against his cheeks and wiped away his tears, her touch soft and gentle. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

_It didn't help. He didn't think that anything would. Was this peace? Was this what he had fought for, had become stained for, had nearly died for so many times over? Was this what freedom tasted like, like tears?_

_He didn't move, didn't fall into her embrace. He just stood there like he had been shot, eyes staring straight ahead and curiously dry despite the tears he had spilled before._

_Freedom, peace... they burned, they tasted like salt, and they hurt. Zechs hoped that was the ending that Treize had been hoping for, because that was certainly what he had gotten._


	11. Part Eleven

_I am so so so so sorry for the delay. Thanksgiving was a problem, a very large one full of many people. I'm not good with people. It was very stressful. Anyway, this chapter was so much fun. A bit short, but you'll live. I hope. Please live!_

--

**Inheritance: Part Eleven**

It was an innocent, white piece of paper. The ink of the printer was black, the font looked old-fashioned, and most of the sheet was blank. It was just a simple piece of paper, just a sample sheet.

**Beautiful Death**

By Zechs Merquise and Treize Khushrenada

_She leaned against the railing beside the road with her head down. Her dark blonde hair trailed over her shoulders, kept as neat and perfect as it should be. She smiled bitterly._

_"A normal girl would freak over this," she murmured, staring out over the ocean waves. She was more collected than normal girls, though. She knew she was. It was just that although she understood how important her father's job was, she wished that her parents had more time to spend with her. Sometimes she was so lonely._

Zechs turned the pages over irritably. For some reason, the sight of the paper bothered him. It wasn't particularly logical, so he didn't try to muse it over, but the feeling was there.

Treize took the paper from him delicately and stared at it with a raised brow. He scanned it briefly, wondering what had caused the stormy look to pass over Zechs' face. It was just the title and a small clip, nothing more. Shaking his head, Treize set it aside. "What should happen with the ending?" he asked.

"It should remain true," Zechs said firmly. "If we make it unrealistic, it wouldn't do that."

Treize looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding slowly. "All right. _You_ should do it, though. I have no patience for endings. You can usually tell what they are during the story. There is rarely any point in finishing a story like that."

"All right."

"Would you like to go over to my apartment and play chess?"

Zechs' mind flickered over to the board back at Treize's condo, still laden with pieces that were half-way through their moves. "All right."

--

The first ending that Zechs tried to write was laden with bitterness and pent-up emotion. If defeat tasted like ashes and freedom tasted like salt, that tasted like ice. The half-forgotten ghosts of feelings came back full force and poured into the keys and onto the screen. The sight of those words had been startling. He had barely felt connected to them at all, wondering if some demon had possessed him and taken control of the keyboard. He had saved it to the small part of his hard drive he reserved for screw ups that he couldn't get rid of and started over with little more success. He erased that one and opened a new document once more, this time doing a bit better.

_Regina could hardly believe that the air that she breathed was the air of peace. She still couldn't believe it, even after these three years. Her hair was shorter now. The golden strands flew around her in the wind, blurring her vision as they fell before her eyes. She leaned against the guardrail and looked over the beach._

_This was where it had all started, wasn't it? This was where she had first met him. She wondered if she would ever stop feeling this way, this regret mixed with longing for what could have been but wasn't. She could still see him before her, collapsed on the beach. Then it disappeared, only a fragment._

_Stepping up beside her, her brother rested against the railing too. It was the same pose, the same likeness, a show of the blood that connected them. Their eyes met, the same color but a shade of a difference between hers and his._

_"He was my friend. His family always visited Sanq. I don't believe I ever told you that. He killed so many people but he believed in what he was doing so strongly. Now he's..."_

_"My soldier was like that," Regina said with a wry smile. "You met him, didn't you? On his way here? He believed so strongly. I always felt like he had come down from the stars like an avenging prince to impart the need to fight in me."  
_

_"A prince of the stars..."_

_They were quiet again, staring over the relentless waves. Her light summer dress fluttered around her ankles and the small braid that fell along one side of her face blew back in the wind._

"What happened to them? What happened to the other pilots?" he asked her, lashes sweeping down to hide his eyes.

_"You know what's funny? I don't even know. I think that the Preventers know, but no one else. Not even me." She bit her lip. "I don't even know if they lived, Arden."_

_Her eyes stayed steady. His studied his hands, clenched over the rails so that the knuckles showed white under his skin. "Will you take care of it here, Regina? Until I come back? I need..."_

_He needed to say goodbye again. He needed to mourn the anniversary in private, to let his heart break all over again, to remember everyone that had died for them and their cause. Regina knew what he needed to do. She had done it last year, and the year before. "You know I will."_

_The stone of the monument was white, carved so that it appeared as if ivy curled all over it. The name was printed on it in curving, ornate letters that Arden traced over with white-gloved hands. Every veering point was caressed, the cold entering through the gloves and freezing his skin._

_"I wanted to die with you."_

_Regina heard the whispered words and decided to leave in peace, carrying her own demons, to the other grave that she recognized in this graveyard. This was simple, nameless, and all that was on it was a pair of etched wings. It was just as she had known he would have wanted. He probably wouldn't have wanted this to begin with in case it could be connected with him. She smiled through tears._

_"I wanted to win for you. I don't know if I did."_

_The wind lashed the snow against them, covering everything in sight with pure white. It filled the tracks they had made getting into the cemetery for the fallen of their war, making it seem like they had never existed. Had Arden's commander really thought death was beautiful? Regina saw Arden rest his head against the gravestone, his teeth tearing into his lower lip._

_The blood stained the flawless covering of snow._

--

"I suppose the first match is yours," Zechs said, frowning.

Treize smiled. "I suppose that a celebratory glass of wine is in order. Would you like to play again?"

Zechs shrugged gracefully. "I'll set up the board while you get the wine."

His hands went through the motions automatically, each piece set where it belonged. The squares of the board were so clearly cut and contained, the battlelines so easy to understand and see.

Epyon exploded behind his eyes and Zechs flinched, accidentally knocking a piece to the floor. He bent down to pick it up again.

"Did you finish the ending?" Treize asked as he came back through the kitchen door. Zechs carefully placed the piece back where it belonged.

"Yes. I'll let you read it tomorrow, maybe."

Treize looked at him for a moment, patiently curious as he waited to see if Zechs would say anything else. The blonde just shook his head.

Making a noncommittal sound, Treize handed him a glass. "To new beginnings." Seating himself in the chair opposite Zechs, he moved the first piece on the board.

--

An ending shouldn't have hurt as much as Zechs' aching head did. He could feel his temples pounding, the blood hammering against his ears until all he could feel was his own heartbeat. For several long moments, he couldn't remember why.

His thoughts spun lazily, flinching with pain over the ending of "Beautiful Death," moving on to their chess game and the moves expressed. When the first game had ended, Treize's bishops had skillfully cornered one of his queens. It hadn't taken long for the other one to be forced to admit defeat. It was a good loss for Zechs and a good win for Treize. Then they'd had wine.

Wine. Treize loved red wines, though Zechs thought the taste was somewhat flat. Wine, though, would explain why he couldn't remember much now. He cracked open an eyelid and his vision swung, dizzying. He must have drunk too much, forgetting his low tolerance for it. He burrowed himself into the warmth surrounding him, trying to think beyond the pain. Come to think of it, Zechs mused before he could look away from the thought, Treize had often plied him with alcohol when he was upset from a battle. They had usually ended up in...

Bed.

--

_Oh my god, I just had fun. A lot of fun. (dies) You are all so going to hate me, yet I'm still grinning. Mwahahaha! I am the queen, I am the pinnacle, I am the LORD! And I absolutely cannot stop grinning. This is insane. If you see any typos, notify me, please! Review and tell me how much you want to kill me, because boy would I want to kill me. Hehehe._


	12. Part Twelve

_I know I promised that it would be out on Friday or Saturday, but obviously it was late because of the following reasons: whereas last chapter made me laugh at the end, this one made me cry. This suuucks. Then came the writers' block. That sucks tooooo! On top of that, it's short again. Jeez. Please, ignore me while I whine._

_In other news, I'm going to be posting stuff on my new LiveJournal account too! Yay! I just need to figure out how to work it now..._

--

**Inheritance: Part Twelve**

The warmth was the first thing that Zechs realized he felt. Warm, and safe as well. It was that feeling that had kept him from noticing the situation, that feeling that had allowed him to sleep next to another person to begin with. He hadn't been able to sleep next to anyone since he was a child, so the feeling was foreign, yet all-too-familiar.

Zechs' eyes still felt gritty, but his vision snapped into focus abruptly when he turned to look and see if he was right.

Treize looked gorgeous when he slept. His strong features relaxed, he looked breathtaking and even more handsome. His brow was smooth and relaxed, no tension showing tightly coiled behind his dark blue eyes, his lips parted. He held Zechs to him possessively, his arms surrounding him and his fingers entangled in long, blonde hair. He had his lips pressed against Zechs' temple vaguely.

_'God.'_

Zechs' stomach melted, heat swirling around his midsection.

_'Is this a dream?'_

It felt... so amazing; Treize's skin against his, the warmth of the blankets hiding them from the cruel morning air. How had this happened? Zechs' memories were vague, like the memories just before you go to sleep. They were muddled and cloudy, hanging around Zechs' head like a thick fog but impossible to see anything else while within it.

They had been having wine and playing chess. Treize had studied the board with cool eyes, his lips looking soft and wet from the sip he had taken from his glass. Zechs had been forced to keep his eyes on the board or no where else. Every time he looked anywhere else, Treize was taking a sip of wine, looking at Zechs with affection, touching a chess piece with fingers that held it so particularly, or just breathing, his chest rising and falling evenly.

But how had they...?

It was a gentle, fleeting touch of lips that he remembered, but he couldn't remember why it had happened. His hand had cradled Treize's cheek, his mouth easing over Treize's softly, lips clasping and embracing so briefly it could almost had been imagined. He could remember a strange feeling of fear, as if the man next to him was going to crumble and disappear at any second.

He could remember Treize staring at him, his eyes dark with one of Zechs' hands still on his cheek. His whispered word had hung in the air after he had pulled Zechs down on top of him, touching him carefully. The pads of Treize's fingers had skimmed over his body, eyes awestruck.

_"Milliardo..."_

It had been perfect.

He froze. Torn between the wonderfully open door and a lock of dark ginger hair that fell into Treize's eyes, he looked back and forth for a moment before closing his own eyes. He tried to even his breathing, counting to seven between each breath in and out.

"Milliardo?"

Zechs opened his eyes to see Treize's awake and confused gaze meet his. "Damn it," he cursed softly, putting his head back down on Treize's shoulder. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

He felt a soft pressure on the back of his head, a hand stroking down his long hair and down his back. "I must be dreaming," Treize concluded, sounding strangely content.

"That's... what I was hoping." They lay for a moment wrapped around each other before Zechs extricated himself from Treize's hold. He wrestled on his clothing wordlessly and headed to the door, turning to look over his shoulder at the man sprawled on the bed with a flummoxed look on his face.

"I'm leaving. _Don't_ follow me."

The door slammed.

--

_"Hey, Zechs. It's Noin. Where the hell are you? Don't you remember me? Your nearest and dearest friend? Anyway, there was some kind of screw up with the automated atmosphere system on Mars and they need me to fix it, of course. I'll see you soon, hopefully, if I can fix this before my vacation's up. Some vacation, huh? Don't forget to call!"_

The machine beeped loudly, and then beeped again when Persephone sat on it. She stared at him balefully, her gaze accusing and solemn. He glared at her and ran a hand through his hair raggedly. Everything was still spinning like he was on one of those ancient rides that they had at fairs and circuses, circling over and over again with music and the screams of children blaring in his ears.

His stomach twisted and he sat down on the floor inside the doorway, hard. "Damn it." Everything was turning over in his stomach, rising to sit uncomfortably in the back of his throat. Pressing cool hands on the suddenly clammy skin of his face, he stood and staggered over to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower full blast and jerked off his clothes, stepping under the burning hot water. It cascaded down his hair and turned his pale golden skin bright red. He pressed his forehead to the side of the shower, breath fogging the steam-covered wall. "Damn it," he whispered again, feeling tears prick his eyes. They mingled with the water seamlessly and it all went down the drain.

--

Zechs emailed the story to Lena without having Treize read the ending. He hadn't wanted an ending anyway. There was no point in having him read it when he hadn't wanted one to begin with. Lena called him, chirping joyously at him and telling him the date of the party that celebrated the authors and the good jobs they had done.

Persephone twitched her tail at Zechs and purred when he started to pet her.

He bent down so that his lips just touched the furred end of her small ears, breath ghosting against it as he said, "How could it be real?"

She just blinked at him, rubbing her head against his hand.

Every memory that still tormented him, every half-forgotten touch, every word, had been a lie.

_"I'm going to need you to die, Zechs."_

He had faked his own death for Romefeller's benefit but not stayed low like Treize wanted. He had dueled a Gundam pilot to try and find the meaning to everything bloody thing he had done in the name of the pacifist Sanq. He had tried to blow a hole in the Earth. He had killed and he had destroyed, and it was all real.

And Treize had kept to his own ideals and honor, betrayed Zechs, and died with Shenlong's weapon piercing Epyon's stomach.

It was all too real.

--

The rain was cold. It beat against the glass in the windows like knives, cutting through the air and flinging at the window in an attempt to break it. It slid down the cool windowpanes and pooled against the ledge outside the window before rolling over the edge and hitting the ground below.

Zechs had looked terrified when he fled from the apartment. He hadn't looked angry. He had been walking a horrible edge between panic and control, pale blue eyes wide and his breath coming out short because of an attempt to control it. He had looked like he was going to lose the contents of his stomach, not because of the wine, but because of his fear.

Treize could remember when Zechs' mask had shattered during battle and he had said, so calm even during the midst of battle, that he couldn't be Treize's friend any longer. There was no way that he could be, officially, but their connection had stayed there even when they had been barely able to see one another at times. Even at opposite sides, they had still been friends.

What did it mean for Zechs to run like that? What did it mean for him to look one step away from screaming and sobbing at the same time, held together only by pride?

Friendship. It had stayed with them even in the here and now, unacknowledged. Treize couldn't go after him; he had said not to. Treize would wait.

Friendship would tie them together. It had to.

Standing up from the comfortable armchair, he walked over to the glass to put a hand on it, leaving behind an imprint when he took it away.

They had a connection, the connection of two men who had loved, trusted, and fought together. They had been on the same side; they had been on different sides. They had entirely different ideals, yet they were the same at the core. It was the connection between them that allowed Treize to walk over to the computer to begin work again, to check and see if Zechs had sent him the ending.

Zechs hadn't. Lena had.

_Thank you for your timely submission to All Hallow's Eve. Here is a copy of the finished copy of your work, as it will appear in the anthology. Please come to our party for the writers that we are holding on the date and time listed below._

_All Hallow's Eve's Event Coordinator and Editor,_

_Lena._

Treize opened the document and began to read.

--

_Yay! Done. Just in case you didn't notice, there's probably only going to be a couple more chapters. Either one or two, so the end is definitely in sight. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter and please review again with any questions/comments/problems/corrections. And check my LiveJournal account in a couple of weeks after I figure out how to work it!_


	13. Part Thirteen

**Inheritance: Part Thirteen**

The Fates had teamed up solely to mock the mere mortals that they controlled. It had always been Zechs belief that this was the reason, but he had hoped that as the Queen of Hell, Persephone would protect him from them. It hadn't worked, since she was a cat and cats all had a cruel sense of humor, but the belief had helped.

The calendar read that it was September now, so it had been a couple of weeks since he had finished "Beautiful Death." Finishing a story meant nothing, however. It just meant that he had to start something again, because he was a writer, and an ending only meant a new beginning.

The ending had meant a new beginning. He wasn't sure whether he completely trusted it, but it appeared that his ending had meant a new beginning.

Persephone was sleeping on top of the grandfather clock, her long tail hanging in front of the face of the clock and obscuring the time. Zechs watched her from the corner of his eye, his hands resting on the keys of his laptop. Tomorrow's date was circled on the calendar in red ink. There was a skull and crossed bones on it; childish, but it made him feel better. Tomorrow was the date of the party, when he would see Treize again. He wasn't sure whether he was ready to do that yet, but he had to go, for Lena.

Do you trust me?, Treize had asked, more than once. The answer had changed over time, fluxed back and forth, but it had eventually turned out to be "yes." It had been the wrong answer, of course. Treize had died for his ideals, given himself up to the cause. It was the perfect ending. It showed an unshakable belief, determination, and resolution, but Treize had left behind everyone that had ever known him to grieve. The grieving, too, had no doubt been part of his plan.

It was strange, because Zechs could dream about the beginning, the middle, and even the end after Treize had died, but he didn't know what had happened past that point. He didn't know anything past that, didn't know how he had died or even how he had coped after that. Maybe it would have been easier if he had known, because then he would know that maybe everything had been all right.

He couldn't quite reconcile the two sets of memories that he had, couldn't quite correlate the dreams with his memories with everything else. Everything was separate and disjointed, but it was all real.

First came denial, and then anger. He had skipped the bargaining; it didn't make sense to bargain when what was real was real. Then had been the depression, sparked on by his and Treize's last meeting over chess, and then acceptance.

He supposed that the stages of grief were real, because that was what had happened.

Zechs focused back on the screen. He tapped out a sentence, saved, and looked at Persephone again. Her tail twitched back and forth, a lazy, pendulum-like motion.

"You were supposed to protect me from the Fates, cat."

She didn't even wake up. That was a cat's morality for you.

The phone rang, a welcome relief from his thoughts, and he picked it up at the first sign of noise. "Hello?"

"Jeez, Zechs. You were you just waiting by the phone or something?" The voice was obnoxious and drawling, recognizable on the first syllable.

"Hello, Duo." He took a moment to wonder how Duo had gotten his phone number. He had Duo were friends, but only in passing. They saw each other enough at events and Crescent that they had never seen the point in exchanging numbers, and if something was really needed, Duo would leave a message with Heero.

"Seriously, were you waiting for a call? It's not that important, if you were."

Zechs smiled, brushing a strand of blonde hair off his shoulder. "I was lacking things to do."

"Ah, boredom. My old friend. You're going to your sister's little get-together tomorrow, right?"

Zechs nodded. "Yes. She would have my head if I didn't."

"Good. Apparently, our dear "Mr. Smith" is bringing Heero, which should be really amusing since your Lena starts drooling very discreetly at his body. Don't know why. He's really freaky with that sitting in the back corner and watching people. He's like a stalker or something."

"He only stalks people while they're in Crescent," Zechs pointed out, "And then he's justified, since he owns it."

"Whatever. I just wanted to make sure someone was going to be able to pull Lena off him once she starts making lakes with her drool." Lena was no where near that bad. She was actually polite and courteous with Heero, nothing else. She just blushed a bit on occasion. "Is your Khushrenada guy coming?"

Zechs was silent for too long a moment.

"Zechs?"

"I think so. I don't see why he wouldn't be." He stared at Persephone's twitching tail for another moment. "Duo, do you remember the ending of the Last War from school?"

Duo's voice grew guarded. "A bit. Why?"

Zechs hid a smile behind his hand even though Duo couldn't see him. It faded after a quick moment. "Because the commander of Oz suicided at the end. He wrote his story and made himself the sacrifice. I think that he must not have liked endings, don't you think? Real endings are never pretty. That's why I like horror. You can make it honest instead of idealistic."

"I guess..." the brunette said hesitantly. He was probably wondering what the point was, so Zechs sighed and shook his head.

"Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow."

Duo blinked in confusion, then shook his head. "All right. See ya."

Two phones clicked as they were put down. Duo stared at the wall for a moment, playing with the end of his long braid. "Endings, huh?" He smirked.

--

For once, everything was in order. White-blonde hair was pulled into a long ponytail, contrasting sharply with his black coat. He had a few credits in one of his jeans pockets, Persephone was fed and purring, and all electronic appliances were off and therefore not a fire hazard. He stared back at the door of his apartment in shock.

He had to be forgetting something. It was the way of life. Something had to go wrong or his day wouldn't be complete.

He went back over everything in his mind, but it was fine. Strange. Shaking his head, he locked the door and headed out. He was even in time to get a bus.

The ride to the conference building was short and nothing was spilled on him on the way there. When he got there, he was able to get into the building without a hitch. He was beginning to be a bit afraid. He had spent most of his time dreading this day, but now that it was here, nothing bad was happening. All of his time spent worrying seemed to have been a waste of time.

He wasn't in the building yet, though. He was standing there, staring at the open doorway in confusion.

"Do you plan on entering the building at some point?" Heero's voice was wry and, like usual, he sounded a bit smug at the stupidity of others. Trowa was at his side, half of his face hidden by his long brown bangs. Trowa had an odd follicle pattern, probably from being descended from colony stock, and it worked quite well for the quiet man since it provided him with some cover from staring eyes.

"By all means, go first if you feel that I am in your way," Zechs said graciously, gesturing widely with one hand.

Heero had a dark look on his face, his mouth opened to say something when he was interrupted by a loud, "You guys are in the way! How am I supposed to get through if you're blocking the path?"

"Duo," Zechs acknowledged. "I was trying to explain to your strange comrade that he was allowed to pass me if I was annoying him."

Duo snickered, his blue eyes amused. "So he's "my" comrade when he's annoying you?"

He stood had forced his way between Heero and Trowa. The thought ran through Zechs' mind before he could stop it, quicksilver and ghostly. _'Three of five...'_

"No. He is your comrade because at the moment, you three are facing off against me." Duo looked confused for a moment; it was impossible to ever read the expressions on Trowa and Heero's face except under extreme circumstances. "To get into the building I mean."

His eyes caught the movement of a car out of the corner of his eye, the broad build and chestnut hair of the driver instantly recognizable. "Never mind." He turned and entered the building.

Behind him, the three young man exchanged a look before following.

--

The building was decorated again. This time, the walls were splashed with a red material that looked very reminiscent of blood. The food was ghostly; the light on it made it appear silver and glow faintly. The room was dark, candles littered around heavy draperies cutting away the sunlight. There was music, too, something that sounded like a dark opera.

Lena had outdone herself.

She was making some sort of speech again, her words cheerful and politic. She was wearing a beautiful, silvery dress that befitted the silver, black, and red decorations, some sort of sleeveless coat thrown on over it like blood over water. She looked like a Gothic princess; Lena was good at looking like things that she wasn't.

In the corner, Duo was saying something quiet and sarcastic to a Heero that was looking increasingly annoyed. Trowa was ignoring them. Treize was somewhere in the dark; Zechs had thankfully lost track.

"We would like to thank all of the writers that worked so hard to put out this edition of All Hallow's Eve. We know that everyone did their best and we feel that we have an incredible anthology this year. We would especially like to thank Treize Khushrenada and Zechs Merquise for their amazing joint project, "Beautiful Death." We hope that everyone likes the copies of the October edition that we give out when you leave, and make sure that you tell us of any mistakes when you read it. This is a preliminary copy and we still have a lot of editing to do." She smiled prettily, a lock of the golden hair she had pulled into a ponytail spilling over her cheek and down onto her dress. "Now enjoy the party! After all of your hard work, you deserve it."

That received a hearty, "Hell yeah!" from a corner that sounded suspiciously like Duo's, and Lena laughed as she faded back into the rest of the party. She caught Zechs' eyes for a moment and grinned, looking like a young, beautiful princess. Then she looked back to one of the other editor's and her eyes took on that expressionless look that said she was arguing a point. Zechs smiled. Lena was amazing.

A hand settled on his arm, tugging slightly. He flinched.

"We have to talk."

Zechs sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

--

_Okay, so I lied. I didn't mean to. The chapter ran away from me. I wrote in one sitting, and when that happens all hell breaks loose. The next chapter is going to be the last one. I added On My Own by Three Days Grace (minus the bridge) to the beginning of the first chapter, in case you didn't notice. The lyrics really fit most of this fic, so I wanted to share._

_Now for the big stuff, so pay attention. After this fic, I have a couple different ones that I'm thinking about, and I need your help you lucky peoples you. I've been planning on a 1x6x1 one-shot, but it turned into a multi-part. It has less romance than this and more plot. It's been fun to write so far. I'm also planning an Inheritance sequel if anyone is interested. It's Duo's, a 2x5x2, and will include the two missing Gundam pilots. It should be somewhere around this length. Last (but not least) is a Naruto fic, Neji/Gaara. It's shorter than the other two but is very good, in my opinion. What do people want me to write first? If you don't mind a bit of delay, I could probably do my Naruto fic and one of the others at the same time, but if I start the 1x6x1 you'll have to wait a while for the Inheritance sequel. Help, please?_


	14. Part Fourteen

_The end! Oh my. I didn't have a chance to spell-check because I couldn't find the spell-checker on my sister's laptop (which is what I'm using,) so tell me if you see any glaring mistakes or not-so-glaring mistakes._

--

**Inheritance: Part Fourteen**

The room that Treize pulled him into was some sort of abandoned extra room, stacked with messy papers and a hunk of long-forgotten computing machinery that seemed to have been put there for the sole purpose of shoving it out of the way. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dust that turned everything a grayish-brown and gave the room the musty odor that a room sometimes gained when not oft used.

Zechs sneezed once, then again, batting the air away from his face with his free hand. His other was still captured by Treize, who was looking less-than-pleased at the current accommodations. He was giving the entire room the arch look that he gave the lowliest, most arrogant of the Oz recruits, a look that said quite clearly that they had better shape up or ship out.

Jerking away from him with a quick pull of his arm, the two faced off. Two men, equal in abilities and memories, who had known each other with everything they had inherited from their previous life, together and apart.

It was the "apart" part that was creating the problem. The thought whispered in Zechs' mind like the soft cooing of a devil that wanted to seduce and tempt a man away from his path and into a bog. His feelings were not fair, but they were deserved by all accounts that Zechs could find. He had turned away from Treize, could no longer on any of the principles that he wanted to believe stay with the commander of Oz, but their bond had remained. That bond should have said that Treize could not go through with his plan, could not make his perfect ending the way that he had wanted to. Endings were messy; they had to be, so that the story was any good.

"I thought that you wanted to talk." Words spoken evenly, without any of the hint of sly humor that Zechs usually gave them.

Treize didn't look affected, but even if he had been he wouldn't have showed Zechs. At this moment they were enemies, against each other in everything that mattered. There was no trust at this moment, only a wary and cautious respect that was similar to what two tigers gave one another as they circled, staring into each other's eyes. It was the look of predators, of people that were not sure of one another but had enough of a mind to know that they could not attack just yet.

"You didn't mail me the ending," Treize finally said, unreadable.

"No," Zechs agreed.

"Your sister did."

Zechs would have said that Lena was meddling if he didn't know that she had absolutely no clue what was going on.

"I suppose that you got to read it after all, then."

They stared at each other silently. Treize sighed, turning his eyes away. It was not a surrender; Treize did not know how to surrender. It held no significance other than a slight ease of manner. "You never pay your own feelings enough attention. You turned away even at the end to give her more attention."

"Relena, Lena, Regina. It only makes sense to give the princess what she is due."

"A knight of Sanq, then?" Treize smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. It rarely did. "You bow down to her every time she gets within ten feet. I suppose that I must just take this knowledge of you as it is, otherwise I would change something essential to your soul. You would no longer be yourself if you were not self-sacrificing."

"_I_ am self-sacrificing?" Zechs asked bitterly, raising one blonde eyebrow in a cold rebuttal. He tugged on his long ponytail so that it fell onto his folded arms, a nervous gesture that wasn't like him.

"Yes. My move was not one of self-sacrifice. It was just a thing that had to happen for the war to end."

"Are you forgetting the meaning of self-sacrifice? I suppose that it wouldn't be like you to ask of others what you would not be willing to do yourself. It's always about the sacrifice, isn't it?"

Treize was quiet, dark blue eyes thoughtful. "You are angry with me."

Zechs snorted with laughter. "You're just learning that now? I can deny everything all that I want to, but you just insist on making it apparent that the past is the present. If this was all we have, I wouldn't have left. I would have stayed in bed and we wouldn't be having this argument."

"That is what this is? An argument?"

"That is generally what one calls this sort of passionate exchanging of words, Treize."

Treize leaned back against one of the boxes that were stuffed with old papers. His lazy elegance would have been like a slap in the face if Zechs didn't know that the motion was meant to distract and deter while Treize took the time to think about what was being said.

"I died."

"Yes."

The chestnut-haired writer looked off to the side, staring at one of the water-stained walls. "I'm sorry."

They could hear the sounds of the party outside through the wall in the silence that followed. Treize never apologized and meant it, but it Zechs could almost believe that this time he did. When Treize apologized, it was normally a formality. It was just a way to use his words to ease over some imagined or true slight in someone's mind, something that he did not regret but wanted to make disappear. This was a real apology.

But an apology did not fix anything, not really, no matter how much it meant.

"I am too."

But it was the past. It couldn't be helped, it couldn't be changed. It was just there, effecting what now existed. It was omnipotent, present in every word that they spoke to one another, and yet it had to be what it was. Treize believed what he had always believed, that what he had done was the best option, but he was sorry. He was sorry that he had hurt Zechs, and if he went through it again, he would probably change what he had done. If he hadn't been willing to give everything for his beliefs, though, he wouldn't have been Treize Khushrenada, commander of Oz, promoter of peace, one willing to make himself the enemy so that there could be a true peace that had lasted to this day, despite some small upsets and how long it had taken to root out corruption.

Zechs bowed his head. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't die at the end of the war. And you got what you wanted. I can't hold a grudge at you for being yourself, not with a clear conscience."

Treize had a cautious hope in his eyes. Zechs smiled.

"Would you like to see your peace with me?"

Treize smiled too.

It wasn't an offer for anything except what had existed, it wasn't any sort of forgiveness, but it wasn't denial anymore. Some things couldn't be forgiven or forgotten, and that was all right, but life moved on, apparently.

"We might want to start with the party before Lena has your head."

Life would move on. As long as Zechs went back before Lena realized where he was and Heero did not realize who he had been secluded in an empty room with.

--

Persephone chirped at the door, tilting her head most becomingly between the sounds of the key scraping in the lock and her food dish, which was empty and clean from being licked out. She ran over to jump on the counter so that it didn't look like she wanted food too badly, needing to keep her composure.

Her Person came through the doorway, bundled up in several layers of clothing, followed closely by the New Person, who Persephone tried to make her first human think she liked more than him. Besides, the New Person liked to pet her and would sit for hours stroking her. Zechs thinking that Persephone liked Treize better kept him on his toes. Petting Persephone was what her Person had gotten the New Person for, after all.

She saw the two of them brush the snow off of their clothing and put their coats up on the hooks next to the door. The long, pale hair that Persephone liked to bat back and forth spilled from beneath the warm knit hat, flowing down her Person's back. Treize raked a hand through his own hair and sighed.

"Remind me exactly why we are in your freezing apartment? Why is the heater broken again, anyway?"

"It apparently wasn't fixed properly the first time. We were going to get Persephone to stay with us while they fix it."

"Because I didn't want you to freeze?"

"Yes, that is exactly why you decided to let me stay. Trust me."

Treize snorted lightly. Persephone did not understand this, but backed up rapidly when the cat carrier was brought closer. Her Person was transporting her to a strange place and he was not being very nice about it!

Scowling from her place behind the closed door of the carrier, she watched, pouting as gracefully as only a cat could, as the New Person drew Zechs close enough to press their lips together softly. Zechs allowed it for a moment before pulling back and starting to gather a few of Persephone's things. Persephone nearly whimpered when she saw him begin to move all of her toys from the clever places she had hidden them. It had been so difficult to try and get them where she wanted them.

"It's been a year since we met again," Treize said, expressionless, as he watched Zechs. He was tracking the motions meditatively, eyes following Zechs wherever he went.

"I know." Zechs sighed and abandoned trying to pick up everything that he and Persephone would need. "It's difficult." He walked over to Treize to rest his head on Treize's shoulder, feeling the other writer's breath ghost over his hair. "It will get easier."

"One would assume," Treize said. Zechs could feel the smile against his skin, but did not look up until after a few moments had passed. He moved over to press the answering machine button. It felt like an icicle against his glove-warmed flesh and he immediately drew back his hand to try to warm it inside the sleeve of his sweater.

"For the love of all that is holy, Zechs, if you don't call me I'm going to come Earthside and kill you. There won't even be a scrap of your pretty blonde hair left for them to find you with. I'll tell your tall, dark, and handsome on you. I swear that I will, Zechs." Noin was silent, as if waiting for a response. "Oh well. You've heard it all before anyway. I'll see you next week when we have to petition the Alliance and the Preventers to find out whether we can open Mars to the public. Call me." The machine beeped, as loudly and rudely as if Noin herself had caused it.

"You need a vid phone. She could threaten you better if you had one."

Zechs snorted and put the final few of Persephone's things in a basket. He rested his hand on the wicker, lost in thought. Treize's face could be seen from the corner of his eye; polished, young, and personable. He looked as if he was ageless, never changing, never moving forward. It had been a little over a year since they had met again and nothing had really changed. Lena and Noin were tickled pink that they were friends. Zechs could swear that he had seen Heero snicker into his chocolate raspberry truffle coffee more than once, and Duo seemed inordinately fond of laughing at the strangest times.

"Treize?"

Treize looked up, the question in his dark blue eyes rather than on his lips.

"I do care about you. Did I remember to tell you?"

Treize smiled and the expression was like the heated slash of a sword across his coldly beautiful face. He didn't look radiantly happy, but you could see it in his eyes. That was how you could tell what he was really thinking. His face would not change an inch if he didn't want it to, and he could make his eyes without feeling if it was needed, but one truly apt at reading Treize would always be able to tell what he was thinking from his eyes. "You did."

Zechs gave Treize the basket and picked up the carrier as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary, brushing his hair away from his face as he pulled on his winter coat again.

"When is the man coming to fix the heater?"

Zechs shrugged carelessly. "I don't know."

"He's not coming, is he."

Zechs refused to answer. Persephone looked longingly at the door as she got further and further away from her beloved space. She was going to need to find new hiding places.

_**-owari-**_

--

_It's the end. I don't know if I'm pleased with it, but I'll have to be. It was difficult because this is definitely the end, but Zechs decided to show his stubborn streak at the most inopportune moment and refused to say that he loved Treize because it would be OOC. They just aren't sappy fellas!_

_Since this is the last chapter, I wanted to thank everyone that reviewed consistently throughout the entire fic. I'm really glad that everyone liked it, and I'm especially thankful for those who helped me so much while writing it. You inspired me, or made me think about what I was writing, or both. Thank you. I also want to thank those that only reviewed a couple of times or even just once, because I appreciated that too. Everyone was great through this entire process. I tried to thank you all by updating once a week, replying to reviews unless I completely forgot for some reason, and working my butt off to get out good/decent chapters in enough time. It doesn't feel like enough._

_I think that the Inheritance sequel won out over anything else, so I'm probably going to post that with regular updating and my Naruto fic with sporadic updating. I'm still thinking about the squicky details, but the sequel should be out in two or three weeks. I like to give myself a bit of a break between fics, so if you want to read it and you don't want to check my profile regularly, I would be happy to send you an email when the sequel comes out. Once again, it's 2x5x2, should feature the missing Gundam boys (Wufei and Quatre,) and should have a couple of guest appearances of 13x6, so you'll get a little bitty update._

_Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Channukah, Joyous Yule, etc., and a Happy New Year as well!_


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